


Sing a song of fire, lest we fall into the dark

by caxton



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Brienne of Tarth is the Best, Codependency, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Implied/Referenced Incest, Jaime Lannister Has Issues, Jaime Lannister Needs a Hug, Jaime is just as disgusted by his own incestuous proclivities as we all are, Journalism, Non-Consensual Drug Use, POV Alternating, Past Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Rock and Roll, but I still love you Jaime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 62,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24373126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caxton/pseuds/caxton
Summary: Jaime Lannister, editor of CasterlyROCK magazine, lives to defy his power-hungry father. As a young boy, he turned to rock music to fill the gaps left by his poor excuse for a family. When he crosses paths with reticent freelancer Brienne Tarth, who has the most calming eyes he's ever seen, Jaime finds himself increasingly fascinated by her, and helplessly stuck on her. He saves her from sexual assault, she saves him from his own self-contempt, but is that enough to save their hesitant relationship from snowballing into something that neither of them have a clue how to navigate?
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 111
Kudos: 125





	1. Jaime I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not entirely sure where I'm heading with this story just yet so please bear with me while I wrestle with the ideas floating around in my head.
> 
> The title of this work is a line borrowed (stolen) from The Killers' song Battleborn which I love with all my heart.

Running a hand through his chin-length hair, Jaime Lannister snorted at himself in derision. What he saw in the mirror was a man pushing 30: his once-golden beard was beginning to prematurely grey, and there were crinkles in the corner of his eyes as if he’d spent too much time smiling. But he couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely smiled. He briefly brushed a comb through his beard as if he cared what he looked like; truthfully, he did not. Cersei was away with _Robert_ this weekend and she’d wasted no time rubbing his nose in it, and Jaime did not expect to attract any women at tonight’s show on the basis that The Rainbow Guard were a shitty, pop-punk, commercialised attempt to steal pre-teen girls’ hearts, and he was no predator.

Realistically, Jaime never set out to attract anybody, though he often found himself being the object of many a womanly gaze. Many a manly gaze too, sometimes. But Jaime didn’t want any of those women, nor those men. He only wanted Cersei; he was more than satisfied with his sister’s affection, though it seldom came nowadays. He often felt dirty when he fucked her, especially now that she was seeing someone else, but she was the most constant thing in his life and she was all he had. Fuck everybody else.

The only reason he was going to this damned gig tonight was for the sake of his magazine. Jaime had started writing for himself at a young age, when he had turned to music for survival. He blocked out the cruel reality his father had forged for him with thrashing, near-deafening rock music, and, if truth be told, that music had saved his life. He owed so much to the music, that he had rubbed it in his father’s face by snubbing the career he’d planned for him to fulfil his own legacy.

Tywin Lannister, Jaime’s father (although he _never_ referred to him as such), cared only for one thing: _power_. He had a lot of it too, but never enough for his liking. Having founded LION Corp. almost immediately after finishing university, Tywin was at the helm of the biggest broadcasting company on Westeros. LION was everywhere: on the radio, on the telly, in newspapers, magazines, bus stops, podcasts, blogs… The list went on. Jaime hated it. Tywin had been so concerned with filling the minds of the Westerosi with his own political beliefs and puppeteering the general public so much so that democracy was virtually non-existent, that he failed to take into consideration the three children he had left to their own devices. Their childhood had been taken from them long before they’d really had one. So, of course, Jaime fucked his sister. Whose family is perfect anyway?

Jaime’s writing had slowly veered away from a hobby into a full-time career, and defying Tywin was the only thing Jaime felt he had the right to be proud of. _CasterlyROCK_ was a tiny magazine to begin with, but its readership grew more quickly than Jaime could have anticipated, and it was currently the most-read magazine in Westeros, much to Tywin’s chagrin, though not necessarily for the reasons Jaime might have liked. He knew that most of his commercial success was to do with the Lannister name, of course, but he was more than content knowing that none of the credit, none of the money, would go to LION. He always vowed not to rely on Tywin, and he always vowed never to work for Tywin. And, so, if that meant attending ten shitty bands’ gigs for every decent one, Jaime would suck it up for the sake of his own professional success.

Tonight was one of those shitty bands. He’d heard of The Rainbow Guard, of course. How could he not when they had been reared through one of LION’s most popular TV shows and shoved down the general public’s throats for weeks on end? A Song of Ice and Fire was a musical competition between solo singers and bands that, quite frankly, had run its course in Jaime’s opinion, but the rest of Westeros clearly thought otherwise. The winner of the show received instant fame and a recording contract binding the act to Tywin’s recording company. Jaime thought he would rather piss glass than attend tonight’s show, but he knew that a large percentage of _CasterlyROCK_ ’s readers were pining for a review of The Rainbow Guard, and he had never been one to let his readers down. TRG were the Next Big Thing, after all; maybe if he pretended to enjoy their sound (which was a shambolic regurgitation of genuinely decent pop-punk bands of years gone by), Jaime might be able to at least muster up enthusiasm enough to nod his head politely through their show.

Or, maybe this would finally be the kick up the arse that Jaime needed to, in Tywin’s words, grow the fuck up. Conversations with his absent father had been few and far between over the years, but, recently, Jaime had reluctantly spoken to him almost weekly. Tywin was desperate to buy _CasterlyROCK_ out and add it to his collection of media outlets, and he wanted Jaime to shadow him at LION so that he might one day follow in his greedy footsteps. He spoke as if he were doing Jaime a favour by even suggesting the idea, but Jaime could not think of a future he wanted less. He would not be bought. He certainly would not give Tywin the satisfaction of tainting his future as he had his past. He’d spent enough time in therapy to recognise where the root of all his problems began.

Having once again built up the desire to defy Tywin, Jaime forced himself out of his apartment and into the night, ready to begin his evening of work. Donning his leather jacket as he swaggered his way over to his garage, Jaime felt the familiar thrill of anticipation that came only with riding. His Harley Davidson was his prized possession, and he relished any anticipation to feel the engine roar beneath him. On his bike, Jaime was liberated from his broken life, freed from the clutches of his fucked-up family. On his bike, he could be Jaime, the youthful boy who lived within, who’d had to grow up faster than any boy should. He was a teenager again who’d do anything for love, having been denied it all his life. Riding allowed him to imagine a life where he was anything but the man he is now, not cynical, not miserable, not lonely, but a man who can freely roam to wherever his heart desires, tied to nobody and nobody’s expectations, creating a route of his own towards a better existence.

Instead, he followed the familiar route to Lannisport where the gig was being held, exceeding the speed limit the whole way and revelling in the adrenaline. Jaime’s life wasn’t all bad. He truly did enjoy his job, regardless of the quality of the bands he wrote about; he lived for the atmosphere at gigs, being surrounded by fellow music fans. There was something indescribable, something incomparable, about the way people came together to celebrate their favourite bands, joined only by their shared love of whatever lyrics had penetrated their hearts. Jaime always got goosebumps when the lights go down, when the crowd hushes instantaneously as they crane their necks to get a first look at their heroes walking onto the stage. He would never tire of the palpable thrill in the air; the electricity passing between people who had never met before, bringing them together temporarily to experience that shared buzz, to escape reality, as the music moves through them. Jaime had attended over a thousand gigs, and the atmosphere often did more to heal his soul than the music did. His heart belonged to live music.

“Jaime Lannister, _CasterlyROCK_ ,” he announced when he arrived at the venue, handing over his ID to security. Whilst the doorman checked out his ID, Jaime caught sight of a pair of sapphire eyes inside, and he nodded towards the young woman whose glorious blue gaze could only belong to Brienne Tarth.

“Come in, Mr Lannister,” the doorman said as he returned Jaime’s ID, stepping to one side to allow him entry. The Tarth woman nodded back to Jaime, smiled politely but impersonally at him, and went back to scribbling in the notebook on the table in front of her.

Jaime ventured towards the bar where his photographer sat. “Marbrand,” he greeted, shaking the man’s hand.

“Jaime,” he drawled in reply, taking Jaime’s hand and shaking it firmly. When he pulled his hand away, his mouth twisted into an enormous grin. “How’ve you been, bud?”

“Not so bad,” Jaime lied. Addam was a good friend, but Jaime had never felt comfortable burdening anyone but his therapist with his problems. “Yourself?”

“Aye, not bad,” Addam returned, before taking a sip of beer. “How do you feel about these little princesses tonight?”

“I’ll be pleased when it’s over and I never have to hear another second of their music again.” Jaime laughed. There were no princesses in The Rainbow Guard, just three young men who appealed to no women over the age of fourteen. Led by the vibrant Renly Baratheon, TRG always lived up to their name, adorned in clothes of every colour on the spectrum. Jaime was convinced that half of their popularity was due to their cutesy appearance as opposed to their music, and the young girls who had voted nightly for them had ignored genuine talent in favour of extravagance and show. But, then, Jaime supposed live music was its own kind of theatre.

“They’re a photogenic bunch, that’s for sure. Certainly not camera shy. I’ll get us some good shots,” Addam assured Jaime. “You might have to upgrade your printers though, I’m not sure how much justice ink can give to those colours.”

Jaime laughed, before turning to the barman and requesting a water. He hadn’t had a sip of alcohol in over six months and he had no intention of heading back down that slippery slope. “Maybe you should take some black and white shots for the magazine. I don’t suppose they’d thank us for that.”

Addam’s eyes twinkled mischievously as if he had something more to add, but their joking was interrupted when the band’s PR guy entered the room. “Mace Tyrell,” he said, by means of introduction. “I’ll take you through to the band now.”

Jaime nodded to him whilst he picked up his water, waited for Addam to sling his camera bag over his shoulder and pick up his beer, before they followed Tyrell out of the room. The Tarth woman held back a little, as if she wanted to ensure nobody thought the three of them were together. Normally, Jaime would chat to other journalists before gigs, but he’d never said a word to _her_. The first time they’d covered the same gig, she’d made it quite apparent that she had nothing to say to him if the look on her unsightly face was anything to go by. She’d looked down at him in what could only be described as disdain, searching his face with the judging, sapphire intensity of her gaze. Sure, Jaime Lannister had a reputation, but he’d never done a thing to deserve _her_ scorn. He later deduced that she was just a loner when he’d seen her keep her distance from everybody else at other shows, and he was more than happy to just leave her be. She was hardly what he’d call competition anyway, being so new to the scene.

When they entered the band’s dressing room, the band were nowhere to be seen. Two men were seated on the white sofa, who Jaime immediately recognised as Hyle Hunt and Ronnet Connington. They rose from their seated positions simultaneously, as if racing to be the first to shake Jaime’s hand. Jaime always found it amusing how well-respected he was in the industry despite everything that people held against him, and he often let the flattery feed his arrogance.

“Hunt,” he greeted, nodding at him and ignoring the desperate way he held out his hand. “Connington.” He nodded at the second man.

“I had no idea you’d be covering tonight’s show, Mr Lannister,” Hunt said, making no attempt to conceal his disappointment. It was well known in the industry that when Jaime Lannister covered a gig, nobody gave two shits about what anybody else would have to say. In moments like these, Jaime could almost forgive Tywin for his power greed; his head swelled with a smug satisfaction.

“Can’t disappoint the fans, now, can I?” Jaime smirked at him. He turned to hear Connington’s opinion on the matter, but the man in question was looking beyond Jaime and smirking at what he found there, or rather whom.

Brienne Tarth.

Jaime turned to look at her, trying to establish what the relationship between the pair was. In their few previous encounters, Jaime had often thought of her as a robot, as he’d never seen her betray one iota of emotion. She always looked coolly through people, with an air of quiet confidence and a _holier-than-thou_ aversion towards any of the men she encountered. Jaime was surprised to see her blushing, her unseemly face screwed up into a frown of sorts, and her eyes, the one redeeming feature on her face, were glaring at her shoes. Jaime’s interest was more than piqued. He was amused, and he was determined to stick his nose in where it wasn’t wanted to find out exactly what their history was.

Jaime hadn’t spent _much_ time thinking about Brienne Tarth; he’d never even spoken to her after all, but he’d just assumed she was gay. Their industry was very much male-dominant, and he’d never seen her say much more than three words to male journalists. Those words were usually _excuse me, please_ as she tried to haul her lumbering frame past them. She was a freelancer, only recently had she begun to write, but Jaime had noticed her work in _Lady Stoneheart_ , _CasterlyROCK_ ’s most fierce competitor, edited by his old schoolmate Catelyn. Her publication was very much political, drenched in feminist propaganda, and the furthest thing from Jaime’s own. He thought very highly of her magazine and he often told her as much, but Catelyn did nothing but scorn his own.

Jaime’s readership was much different to hers, though, and so his material was much more superficial; his aim was to please his readers, and they were not so much interested in bands’ values as they were the drama. Jaime’s was a commercial venture, with the sole aim of bringing the gossip and scandal of the rock scene to the attention of fans. Sure, it hadn’t started off that way; Jaime had written meaningful articles exploring the hidden meanings and such in lyrics to begin with, but he quickly found out what his readers preferred, and his content became much more trivial, and much less satisfying. Jaime himself wrote little of the scandal; he opted instead to review live shows and give meaningful interviews, leaving his other writers to incite the drama. Still, everybody in the business attributed the infamy of his magazine to Jaime himself, and he was more than used to people sneering at his publication.

Brienne Tarth’s writing was, unsurprisingly, very much adherent to Catelyn’s political values. In fact, her writing was some of the most quietly impressive that Jaime had read in some years. Hers was the kind of writing that Jaime wished he could return to producing himself, but his readers would surely mock him for it. She obviously put a lot of time and thought and love into her interpretation of music, and she explored bands’ intrinsic values in relation to the sound they produced. It was usually succinct and profound. She very clearly understood music, but that came as no surprise to Jaime. He had known of Brienne Tarth for years, even before she began to write; she used to play in a band herself, and Jaime supposed that was why she had such an affinity for interpreting music. Because she lived music.

Five years had passed since Evenfall had split, and it seemed that Brienne had evolved from a timid 19 year old girl into an impassive, unflappable woman. Back then, Jaime had noted that she appeared fearful of the world around her, yet fearless when she had her bass guitar in hand. Now that some years had passed, it seemed to Jaime that she had grown into her homely face; it suited her. Her crooked nose still stole all the attention on her face, but the trail of freckles from cheek to cheek, which used to appear harsh, now seemed almost delicate as they fluttered over the bridge of her nose. Her swollen lips, which Jaime knew hid the prominence of her front teeth that she desperately tried not to show anybody, appeared almost inviting on her now more womanly face. Her sapphire eyes still shone with the same intensity he had noted years ago, and he had marvelled at them from the off. He would never give her the satisfaction of telling her that, though, mostly because the chances of her ever talking to him were infinitesimally slim.

She still did not appear fully at ease with her appearance, but Jaime could observe a new resilience in her now that she was writing. She would give nobody the satisfaction of mocking her. _Brienne the Beauty_ they used to sneer at her, but, more recently, Jaime had heard _Brienne the Beast._ She no longer allowed people to intimidate her. _Good for her_ , Jaime thought, although he was still curious as to what hold Ronnet Connington had over her, for she looked more uncomfortable than Jaime had ever seen her look under his gaze.

The band suddenly emerged, making an entrance as loud as their clothing. Renly Baratheon, Loras Tyrell and Robar Royce were a sight to behold. Jaime almost laughed at the state of them. Renly, the lead singer, wore a blindingly white shirt, its sleeves rolled up to elbow, with a pair of equally-blinding white jeans. His dark, curly hair bounced in a way that made Jaime want to cringe; everything about him was just too cheesy to be taken seriously. Around his neck, he wore their trademark rainbow cloak which trailed behind him pretentiously, and he held onto Loras’ hand as they made their way towards them, giggling like the little girls who would be awaiting them in the crowd. Loras and Robar wore black instead of white, but they were both cloaked in the colours of the rainbow. Jaime had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from saying something snide about their vibrancy.

Jaime watched as Renly dropped Loras’ hand suddenly and _skipped_ over to Brienne Tarth, his eyes widening – in shock? Disgust? – when he threw himself at her and into a hug. “Brienne!” he cried as she bent down to return the hug. _Well that explains how she made it backstage for a gig of this scale,_ he thought to himself, amused. He couldn’t help but think that Brienne looked almost girly as she buried her face in Renly’s neck, leaning down to do so. When she pulled away, he had to do a double-take; she was smiling, a real, wide, burgeoning smile, the likes of which Jaime had not thought her capable. She looked like a teenage girl with her first crush. _Definitely not gay_ , Jaime thought, but then he looked to Renly. _Not Brienne anyway._

Within half an hour, Jaime was already deathly bored. Not such a good start when the band had still not yet taken to the stage. He stood between Connington and Tarth, almost daring the two of them to air their dirty laundry in front of him. He couldn’t put his finger on why exactly he was so intrigued, but he figured it was something to do with Brienne’s obvious discomfort. He found it amusing to watch a woman of her usual stoicism squirm.

Finally, the lights went down, and Royce, the drummer, took to the stage first. Jaime had to admit the tension was something special; while Royce drummed a steady beat, the crowd were growing louder, more impatient. All he could hear were screaming girls, but the noise they were producing was impressive, nonetheless. Loras took to the stage next, swaggering on with his guitar around his neck. He plugged it into the amp and stood facing the crowd, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, a devilish smirk on his face as he took in the crowd’s reaction. _Drama queen_ , Jaime thought. Finally, Renly appeared, drawing the biggest screams yet, and Loras began to play the riff of their most popular song, before Renly started to physically _bounce_ about the stage.

 _So tragic_.

Jaime found himself leaning towards Brienne Tarth instinctively, knowing the only way he’d make it through the show was by making some kind of conversation. “Isn’t he _so hot?!_ ” he asked, nudging her in the side with his elbow. Her returning glare was lethal.

“I’d thank you to keep your hands to yourself,” she replied coldly, ignoring his jape.

“Don’t worry, I’ve no desire to touch you,” Jaime defended himself, putting up a hand in apology. Trying again, he leaned closer, murmuring, “Don’t you think he’s so handsome, though, so dreamy?”

“Piss off,” she said, returning her gaze to the band before them. Jaime laughed to himself in response. He tried on a few other occasions to get her to talk to him, but she remained reticent throughout. Jaime was trying to count down the songs as if that would make the torture go any faster, but their music was so mind-numbingly unimaginative and repetitive that every song sounded exactly the same. He couldn’t work out where one song ended and another began; he might have listened to thirty short songs or one painfully long song and he would be none the wiser.

“Surely you don’t actually rate this drivel?” he asked Brienne, making another attempt to pass the time. Again, she ignored him, shooting him another annoyed scowl. Though she was quiet, Jaime was learning a lot about her very quickly; she glared frequently, and blushed with even more frequency. Jaime tried to count how many times he could get such a reaction from her; he was having his own sort of fun with her, even if she wasn’t playing an active role in the game.

“I’ve read your work,” he probed further, enjoying the thrill of pushing her buttons. _When will she snap?_ “This isn’t really the sound I’d associate you with.”

“What, might I ask, do you know of me?” she finally retorted. Jaime basked in the glory of hitting a nerve. She continued, surprising him, “I bet it’s right up _your_ alley, Kingslayer.” _Ah,_ he thought, _there it is._ “As long as you keep your seedy readers happy, you don’t care how shit the music is. It’s always slander over support with you.”

Jaime smiled at her mockingly. “I wonder what your beloved Renly would have to say about your opinion of his _shit_ music.”

“He is _not_ my beloved!”

“Struck a nerve, have I?” Jaime turned to look at her, struggling to maintain a straight face. Her face was screwed up in irritation, and he revelled in the fact that he was the cause of her annoyance. She’d folded her muscular arms tightly around her flat chest in defiance, as if she were holding her own body together, and she was doing everything she could to avoid Jaime’s gaze. He knew, though, that she was watching him out of the corner of her eyes. “He _is_ hot, though, isn’t he? Look at the way he moves his hips,” Jaime teased.

“ _Piss off_ ,” she hissed, with more urgency this time around. Jaime let out a sharp bark of laughter. He was having more fun than he had in a long time playing his stupid, little game. Each one of her blushes made him smug with satisfaction, and he was beginning to enjoy the way she would bite her thick lips to stop herself from satisfying him with a snappy response.

The tone abruptly changed from upbeat to melancholy, and Renly announced a new song they had to share with the crowd. _Great_ , Jaime thought, rolling his eyes. He couldn’t think of anything worse than a sad song at a girly concert, but he found himself strangely drawn in. Unrequited love, of course, the most popular genre amongst teenagers. The young girls in the audience were no doubt swooning over the song, likening the tragedy that Renly Baratheon would never love them, that they would never kiss the likes of Loras Tyrell, that Robar Royce would never given them so much as a second glance, to the meaning of the lyrics. Jaime could do naught to prevent his thoughts from flitting to Cersei. _Fuck her_ , he thought, as he had done thousands of times, but, no matter what he did, he would always be the one pining away after her whilst she lived her own life away from him, throwing a mere morsel of affection his way only when it suited her.

_Have you seen my heart? It bleeds for you,_

_But you don’t choose me like I choose you._

_I wait up, baby, for the sound of your voice,_

_But it never comes. You’ve made your choice._

Jaime cringed inside, ashamed and embarrassed that such a terribly written song was having such an effect on him. He felt as pathetic as the bunch of pre-teens in the audience. He looked to Brienne, and he could see she was affected too. Latching onto that, he decided to toy with her again, if only to distract his own wounded heart.

“So emotional, right?” He nudged her again, but she didn’t rebuke him for it this time; she just looked at him wordlessly, her scowl somewhat softer than those earlier.

“I get it,” he continued. “The sad songs… They’re cringey, but they appeal to the kids, I guess. And grown women too.” He smirked at her.

_In another world, another life, we might have been._

_For now, we’re all that we’ll ever be._

_I need you more than you need me._

Jaime didn’t realise how close he was to Brienne until he accidentally brushed his lips against her ear, causing her to shiver, when he whispered, “It’s such a shame we don’t get to choose who we love, right?”

She jumped away from him as if he’d shot her. “I won’t be mocked,” she said, shaking her head. “Not by you.”

“Me?” Jaime responded in fake offence.

“All my life men have mocked me, but I won’t take it from a man like you. You’ve no morals to stand on. You’ve no right to judge me.”

“Oh. Sure. Kingslayer, right? Sold out the Mad King for a bit of quick cask, I get it. I see what you think of me.” Jaime felt the anger swell within him. She hardly knew him; she had no right to judge him for something that happened so long ago. Especially not when she, like everyone else, didn’t know the whole story.

“It’s true, though, isn’t it?”

“What’s it matter to you, anyway?” Jaime asked as he shrugged past her, having heard more than enough of the whiney song. He made his way to the side of the stage, choosing to watch the rest of the show alone from there instead. He pulled out his phone, intending to text Cersei, but he managed to convince himself otherwise. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. He was almost certain she’d only told him about Robert to get a reaction out of him, and he wasn’t going to please her. Not anymore.

He tapped his foot impatiently through the remaining songs, hoping it looked as though he was really feeling the music and politely tapping to the beat. He even nodded his head along whenever one of the trio looked stageside. He could put on a convincing show when he wanted to.

When they left the stage following the encore, Jaime thrust his hand in Baratheon’s direction and complimented him on the show. The singer shook confetti from his hair, and Jaime mocked him internally. _Fucking confetti_. Jaime shook Tyrell’s hand and then Royce’s as his fellow journalists made their own way backstage again.

“You were brilliant!” Brienne Tarth cried with more enthusiasm than Jaime had thought her capable of. She threw her arms around the Baratheon kid again and Jaime smirked at her when she caught him watching them over Renly’s shoulder. She scowled at him again, and Jaime made another mark on his mental tally.

“Thanks, Brie!” Baratheon gushed, sounding more girly than Brienne herself. “Give us ten minutes and we’ll be ready to talk to you!”

The band shook hands with Hunt and Connington, who then proceeded to leave, and Jaime locked eyes with Brienne again, raising his eyebrows at her in question. “Got yourself an interview, eh? Tell me, is it that you have to fuck him before or after for the exclusive?”

“I’m not _fucking_ him,” Brienne retorted sharply, her cheeks reddening in a way that Jaime was starting to become quite fond of.

“You’d like to though, wouldn’t you?” Jaime mocked her. “I suppose he wouldn’t be interested, though, judging by the way he clings to Tyrell…”

Brienne glared at him, her blue gaze so piercing that Jaime was suddenly glad that looks couldn’t kill. He straightened out his expression, becoming serious for a moment.

“Just be careful, yeah? There’s a lot of creeps in this business, don’t be naïve and think you can trust these men. Don’t go throwing yourself at them in order to get inside their heads for the sake of an interview.”

Jaime could almost hear the fury bubbling away inside Brienne. “I assure you, I do _not_ throw myself at anyone,” she snapped. “Not that it’s _any_ of _your_ business.” She turned sharply on her heel to storm away from him.

“Come write for me, Brienne,” Jaime shouted before he could stop himself. “You won’t have to throw yourself at _me_!” _No_ , Jaime thought, suddenly embarrassed, _but you’re doing a good job of throwing yourself at her, you pathetic shit_.

“Fuck you, Lannister, _and_ your shitty magazine.” Brienne cried over her shoulder.

Jaime could only smile in amusement.


	2. Brienne I

Desperate not to spend her night indoors with naught but her overactive mind for company, Brienne opened up their group chat and began to tap away quickly on her phone.

**Brienne:** _Anybody free this evening?_

Within five seconds, both Margaery and Renly had replied to her. She smiled, amused at their characteristic enthusiasm.

**Margaery:** _Yes!!!!_

**Renly:** _What’s the plan?_

**Brienne:** _A gig? Well, it’s more of a small set than a gig, really. Little indie band called The Drowned God… I need a drink and it’s as good an excuse as any._

**Margaery:** _I’m in!!_

**Renly:** _Loras says he’s up for it. We’ll be there_

**Brienne:** _Cool. It’s in Ashemark so I’ll have to drive us._

**Margaery:** _Noo, I’ll ask my dad to take us! That way you can drink as much as you want!!_

Brienne had secretly hoped that Margaery might offer to ask her dad; she was the only one of them who had a licence so she’d only be able to have one drink if she had to drive them home. The other option was to stay overnight, but she wasn’t that desperate to stay out all night. Brienne was just about to reply with her gratitude, but Margaery texted again, this time just to Brienne alone.

**Margaery:** _I’m SO excited, Brie!! What are you thinking of wearing?_

Brienne groaned aloud, thankful that Margaery wasn’t here to witness her discomfort. This was what Brienne hated the most. The girly part. She adored being friends with Margaery Tyrell, and she thanked her lucky stars that they’d met, but Brienne and Margaery could not have been two more different people. Brienne felt very much a sham in Margaery’s company, and she never felt less like a woman than when the same men that fawned over Margaery would look at her in revulsion. It was pretty obvious to everyone, including to herself, that Brienne was _objectively_ hideous.

Margaery, however, never seemed to address that; she always treated Brienne as if she were her equal. In everything, including beauty. Brienne knew it was Margaery’s innate kindness, but she still struggled sometimes to accept the reality of their friendship. Constantly feeling inferior took a mental toll on Brienne, but she loved Margaery more than she hated herself. Margaery was the best friend Brienne had ever had. She’d never really been _friends_ with anybody since Evenfall had split, but, even then, her bandmates had never truly been friends, just a bunch of middle-aged men with a similar thirst for music. She had embraced her loner lifestyle for so long that Margaery, and the friends she’d dragged along behind her into Brienne’s life, had been a shock to the system.

They were nice to her. Too nice, maybe. Brienne was most comfortable when she was being mocked; at least then she knew where she stood. The big, gangly, stocky, ugly freak. She had no idea how to take a compliment, because the concept was so alien to a beast like her; she had no idea how to be comfortable in her own skin. So, whenever Margaery asked her anything that required her to outwardly address her own femininity, Brienne felt sorely out of her depths.

Growing up without a mother had been ok, mostly. Brienne liked to tell herself as much anyway. She didn’t have the face for makeup, nor did she have the desire to learn how to apply it. You can’t polish a turd, so they say. She’d never really given much thought to what she wore either, knowing with certainty that nobody would judge her by her clothing when her face was already so naturally offensive. It didn’t help that she was _so fucking tall_ and _too fucking broad_ , and that women’s clothing often didn’t fit her, even when she looked in the taller ranges. She was a mess, but she was accepting of it. Perhaps even if she had have been brought up with a mother, her appearance would be no better off.

Still, Brienne wanted to at least look like she’d made an effort tonight. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be girly, just that she worried people would mock her for it. But, it had been a while since she’d been able to fully let her hair down and enjoy herself; she’d been working tirelessly for weeks now and she was ready for a night off.

She rooted through her wardrobe for a good ten minutes, sighing and frowning at some of the shapeless options before her, before she decided to just _fuck it_. Why shouldn’t she wear a dress? It had been sitting in her wardrobe for months, neglected, since Margaery had all but forced her to buy it, and she’d paid more for it than she would normally have spent on a full outfit, boots and all. She pulled it out and hung it on her wardrobe door, taking a quick picture of it for Margaery and sending it to her with just a question mark, waiting for her approval. Almost instantly, she had a reply.

**Margaery:** _Oh. My. God. YES, finally!!_

**Brienne:** _You sure? Is it not too much? I’m just toying with the idea atm_

**Margaery:** _If you turn up in anything other than that, I’m marching you right back inside and wrestling you into that dress myself, ok? It suits you. You’ll look hot._

**Margaery:** _H_

**Margaery:** _O_

**Margaery:** _T_

Brienne laughed to herself almost nervously. She couldn’t back out now.

**Brienne:** _Yes, boss._

She would be kidding herself if she believed even for a second that anybody in their right mind would think of her as hot, but she appreciated the way Margaery always tried to boost her confidence. In just a few months, she’d come a long way from the quiet, awkward thing that she had been when she’d met Margaery in the _Lady Stoneheart_ building. Catelyn Stark had paired the two girls together for a project on women in music, and they had become fast friends, much to Brienne’s delight.

After barely half a day in one another’s company, Margaery had asked Brienne on a date. Brienne had been flustered at first, thinking that Margaery, for some reason, had meant to ask her out herself. Margaery had elaborated quickly enough that Brienne had not bolted for the door. Her brother Loras was really into his friend Renly, the lead singer of the band he was in, and Margaery was certain that the interest was returned, but they were both still technically in the closet, and both reluctant to do anything about it. For the sake of some questionable terms in their recording contract, they had to give their teen fans some hope that they might one day have a chance with their idols.

Margaery had come up with a plot to get the boys together, even if they were required to keep their relationship on the downlow in public. She’d asked Renly on a date, and she needed someone to ask Loras out so they could double date, with the intention of getting them to admit their feelings for one another before Margaery could tear any more of her hair out. Brienne had been nervous as hell, but she’d gone nonetheless, if only to see how Margaery’s scheming panned out. She’d never had much of a social life so she’d bravely put herself out there. Though she knew next to nothing about Margaery at that point, Brienne had been right to believe that someone like her could enhance her life. She was still awkward, still inwardly at war with herself, but she loved the way she grew more comfortable in her own skin with every second spent with Margaery. She owed a lot of that to Renly, too, but that was another story entirely.

On their “date”, Brienne had formed a strange attraction to Renly from the off, though she knew he had zero interest in her. Firstly, he was almost certainly gay. Secondly, he was hot, and she was not. Thirdly, the sun was more likely to set in the east than anybody was to ever be interested in Brienne. She knew all these things, and yet she found herself oddly infatuated with him anyway. In fact, the infatuation possibly wasn’t _so_ odd. Renly had been the first man who had ever been kind to Brienne. Not kind with an ulterior motive, or so it seemed to Brienne, just pure and decent kindness. Though she was supposedly on a date with Loras, _he’d_ paid very little attention to her, and he’d made it clear to everyone that the evening’s turn of events were not to his liking. He knew that his sister was plotting something, but he had no interest in games. He wanted Renly, and so he made next to no effort with Brienne. They’d since become friends, almost, but Brienne was still intimidated by him, and, whenever the two of them were left alone, she struggled to make conversation with him.

Renly, however, seemed to go out of his way to make sure that Brienne felt involved in things, and was endlessly kind to her. Brienne had always tried to conceal her need to be loved, because she saw it as a weakness, another flaw that could be wielded against her. She’d never truly been on the receiving end of any love beyond that of her father’s, and that simply wasn’t enough for her anymore. She needed more. With Renly, Brienne allowed herself to feel wanted by him, even if it wasn’t in quite the same way as she wanted him. It was a dangerous game, and she knew she would only end up hurt, but she played along anyway. She allowed herself to be open and vulnerable, and she welcomed his friendly affection into a special, private corner of her heart. He recognised her vulnerability, it seemed, but he knew not to step on it. He was respectful, and he was funny, and he was kind; he was everything Brienne Tarth could never have. But she had his friendship. And that was almost enough for Brienne. Her life was always just an _almost_ away from being everything she wanted.

Her phone buzzed again.

**Renly:** _Brie, Marg just showed me your dress, I can’t wait to see you in it!_

Brienne blushed at her phone and she was glad that nobody was around to see her look so pathetic. Trying to play it cool, she replied.

**Brienne:** _Do you think I’ll need a jacket?_

**Renly:** _NO. It’s summer and none of your jackets will do it justice. Trust me._

**Brienne:** _Whatever you say… Thanks, Ren. See you later x_

**Renly:** _< 3_

Brienne was surprised to see it was already 4:30. _Shit_. She still needed to shave her legs before she could even contemplate getting into the dress. She hadn’t planned on washing her hair again, having only done so yesterday evening, but she thought she might as well whilst she was showering anyway. She’d feel better knowing every inch of her was fresh and clean before trying to convince herself she was preened enough to pull off the dress.

She wasn’t sure who she was trying to impress tonight, really. Not Renly, he was spoken for. Not Margaery, though Brienne was convinced that she was no straighter than her brother. Their friendship was purely platonic, though, and Brienne was very much into men. Not Loras. Nobody really.

Certainly not _Jaime Lannister_.

She’d seen more than enough of him in the past week, and he was partly the reason she needed to get drunk.

This time last week, she had been getting ready to support Renly and Loras at their gig in Lannisport, preparing herself to get some good material for her article in Catelyn Stark’s magazine. Little did Brienne know at the time that the arrogant shit she’d meet that evening, Jaime Lannister, would have such a starring role in the following week. They’d met on the Saturday, and he had pissed Brienne off something rotten. She had never met a more snarky, sarcastic, _downright rude_ man in her entire life. He was just as arrogant as she’d expected him to be, somehow even more so. He’d been almost invasive, probing her relationship with Renly as if it had anything to do with him. It was fair to say he had clawed his way under her skin, and she’d thought of nobody else the next day. Her Sunday had been spent being angry with him, and coming up with snappy retorts to arguments she would never have with him. He had infuriated her.

On Monday, Brienne had gone to cover another gig, this time for her own blog: a northern band that went by the name of Brandon’s Gift. She’d been minding her own business, of course, as she always did when on the job, when the Lannister shit had walked over to her table and sat opposite her, his ridiculously pretty green eyes twinkling at her mischievously. Being the nervous wreck that she was, Brienne had struggled to maintain eye contact with him, and had failed entirely to keep her blush at bay. There was something so aggravating about him, as though he’d made it his mission to provoke her to anger for his own sadistic amusement. He’d smirked at her some more in that annoying way of his, and then he’d moved so that he was sitting beside her, nosily trying to read what she’d been scribbling on her notepad. She’d covered it up, and he’d almost pouted at her.

“Mrs Brienne Baratheon. Am I right? Are you practicing your new signature for when you finally marry him?” he’d asked, and she’d stamped on his foot in annoyance. He’d cried out in pain, before observing her closely again. But then he’d continued talking to her as if they were friends, as if anything about their interactions so far had been normal.

“Say hello to loverboy for me,” he’d teased her when a message from Renly had popped up on her phone. She’d scowled at him in response, not deigning to give him the verbal ammunition he so desperately appeared to be searching for. He’d smirked at her some more, daring her to bicker with him again as they had the other night, but he’d given in quickly.

“Would you like to see some photos?” Brienne had looked at him in confusion. “Of Renly. From the other night,” he’d continued, looking at her as if she were dense. “My photographer sent me some of the pictures he took of them onstage.” Brienne had half-heartedly nodded, still warily unsure of his intentions. She’d been surprised to see that the photos were actually really good. They somehow captured both the fun, vibrant energy of the band and the heartfelt emotion on each of the band members’ faces.

“They’re incredible,” Brienne had said, as Jaime had swiped through the pictures on his phone. “They’ll love these. Your photographer is really talented, you’ll have to thank him on their behalf.”

“So she can be cordial!” Jaime had grinned at her, and Brienne’s heart had stuttered. She doubted she had ever seen a brighter, more beautiful smile in her life. It took her by surprise. She’d merely scowled at him in response, because it was the only thing she knew to do.

“And there she is again.” He’d laughed. “Brienne the Bitch is back in the building.”

“I am _not_ a bitch,” she’d argued, but she’d found herself laughing at him anyway, knowing he was teasing her. Their strange, natural bickering continued throughout the night, and Brienne discovered that she almost enjoyed his company, not that she’d ever tell him. She had to warn herself not to expect anything from a man like him. Jaime Lannister was notoriously disloyal, and Brienne trusted too easily. It had been her downfall too many times; she would not allow herself for Jaime Lannister to be her next undoing.

On Thursday, Catelyn had called Brienne at the last minute with a migraine, asking if Brienne could cover her at a gig. The band was called Steel of Valyria, and, though Brienne was not overly familiar with their music, she knew from what she had read of them that they were _loud_. Brienne relished any opportunity to introduce herself to new music, so she had almost bitten Catelyn’s hand off in acceptance. Loud, heavy music, the type that you could feel moving through your body, was Brienne’s favourite, so she’d turned up to the venue in a fantastic mood.

When she’d walked into the bar, Jaime fucking Lannister was there _again,_ and he’d smiled at her almost _shyly_ which threw Brienne off straight away. He’d raised his glass to her, a pint glass filled to the brim with what looked like water, but could quite easily have been neat vodka, and he’d motioned to the seat opposite him. Confused, intrigued, maybe just desperate to interact with him again, Brienne had obliged him.

“Rum and coke, right?” he’d asked her. She’d looked at him as if he had developed a third eye, and she dreaded to think how exactly that look came across on her already mulish face. “I can get you something else if you’d prefer, I just thought that’s what you were drinking the other night…”

He’d trailed off almost nervously, which intrigued Brienne even more. _What was his intention?_ “No,” she’d said slowly. “Rum and coke’s good… Thank you.” Her gratitude sounded almost like a question, but he did not comment on it. “Water?”

“Yep,” he’d said, tapping his long index finger against the cold glass, causing droplets of condensation to drip down the side onto the table. “Ten months sober.” He’d smiled wryly.

“Oh. Good for you.”

She didn’t bother to ask him how he knew she’d be there that evening, because she knew he’d only respond in jest. Their conversation before the gig had been more pleasant, more friendly than she’d come to expect of Jaime Lannister from what she’d learnt of him during their past two, and only, previous encounters. It turns out Steel of Valyria were good. _Really_ good. Brienne experienced the entire gig with Jaime, somewhere between the back of the crowd and the bar, and both of them were engrossed in the music, nodding their heads to the beat.

They were loud too, so, whenever Jaime had tried to continue their conversation, he’d had to go onto his tiptoes somewhat to shout into her ear. Brienne didn’t know if he was aware he was doing it or not, but he held her by the waist each time too; whether it was to stabilise himself or to pull her closer to him so she could hear better Brienne didn’t know.

But, oddly, she liked it.

Normally, she would flinch away from a man’s touch, but, every time he did it, she blushed, thankful that her face was turned away from him whilst he shouted down her ear. His touch was casual, so casual that she knew it was meaningless to him, but it didn’t stop her from leaning into him each time. He was an arsehole, crude and vulgar in some of the things he insinuated, but she found that she was more amused by him than she was annoyed.

So, last night, when they’d bumped into each other _yet again_ , Brienne had not been able to repress her grin when he’d turned to her and said, “Are you stalking me, Tarth?”

While The Sand Snakes had been performing, he’d teased her about Renly as was now customary, but he’d complimented her on her article which had been published that day. “You have a way with words,” he’d said, full of praise. But then he’d continued with, “It’s obvious you’re in love with him.” Brienne had stuck her middle finger up at him in response, not even attempting to give him a verbal reprimanding. “Does he know?”

“Of course not,” she’d snapped, with what she hoped sounded like finality.

“So you just moon over him from afar?”

“I do not _moon_ over him. He’s my friend. My best friend.”

“I wish I had a best friend who looked at me the way you look at him.”

“Piss off,” Brienne had spat, turning to walk towards the bar to get herself another drink.

“It’s on me,” Jaime had assured her, sidling up beside her. “I’m sorry. All I seem to do is make you angry.”

Brienne had sighed. _What the fuck was up with this guy?_ One minute she wanted to rip his beautiful head off his shoulders in anger, the next he was strangely endearing, like a lonely little boy who craved attention. “I can buy my own drink,” she’d said, but when the barman came over with the card reader, Jaime rushed to get there first, the contactless payment going through before Brienne could even reach for her purse.

“Thanks,” she’d huffed at him.

“Anytime,” he’d replied, flashing her an angelic grin. _Who decided to leave me looking like this while he gets to walk around looking like that?_ she thought almost bitterly.

“What do you want with me, Lannister?”

Jaime had looked at her in surprise. He’d obviously not expected her to be so direct. Hells, she even shocked herself. He’d raised his eyebrows and looked at her carefully as though assessing her for a moment, before he eventually opened his mouth to speak. “You have pretty eyes.”

Brienne’s mouth opened just slightly, but no words came out. _What the fuck?_

“And calm,” he continued. “Even when I piss you off, which I know is every single time I open my mouth, you look angry but your eyes somehow remain calm. I don’t know you well that’s for sure, but there’s something about you that _calms_ me. I can’t really explain it in any other way. I just like your presence, I guess.”

“You don’t like my presence, you like that I’m an easy target.”

“Same thing, right?” He laughed.

“You’re so fucking irritating,” Brienne conceded, laughing.

And, then, the gig was over, her glass was empty, and Brienne needed to leave before he found something else to taunt her with.

“Guess I’ll see you around, then.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” He’d smirked at her one last time. Then, as she’d walked away, she’d heard him shout after her. “Do me a favour and get over Renly!”

She’d stuttered, paused for a moment as if she would turn back and ask him what in seven hells he meant by that, but she’d pushed herself forward in confusion instead having had enough of his weird cat and mouse game. And now she couldn’t get the bastard out of her thoughts.

So, yeah, Jaime Lannister had made a lasting impression on her.

And, yeah, she didn’t know what his deal was.

All Brienne knew was that she needed a night with her friends, and she definitely needed a drink.

When she got out of the shower, she moisturised her freshly-shaven legs and wrapped her hair in a towel before heading back to her bedroom. She dried her hair and did nothing more to it; she had never been one to tie it back or do anything fancy with it. She left it to do its own thing, hanging limply like dry straw. She was just staring at the dress in front of her, trying to build up the courage to try it on, when her phone buzzed.

**Margaery:** _Setting off in ten, see you in half an hour!xxx_

_Guess it’s too late to change my mind now_ , she thought. She pulled the dress off its hanger, grimacing at how short it suddenly appeared, and pulled it over her head. It certainly had not been made for a woman with legs as long as Brienne’s. She thought it almost obscene the way it stopped barely a quarter of the way down her thigh. If she bent over, she would surely reveal everything. _I’d better try not to drop anything_. She pulled at it desperately, hopelessly trying to gain an extra inch or so by stretching it out to make it a more modest length, but the material was tough, ungiving. _Fuck it_ , she thought, giving it up.

Looking through the mirror again, Brienne almost cringed at the severity of the contrast between her milky skin against the velvety black of the dress. She cringed even more when she looked at the bodice, reaching to tighten it where it gaped off her flat chest. She pulled the strings taught until her shapeless breasts were flush against the material, and tied a double knot. She was embarrassed just looking at herself. She’d never had a typically-womanly frame, but the dress did nothing for her wide hips and it only emphasised her broad shoulders. Her waist was thick too, and she’d suddenly never felt less feminine in her life when she took in her shapelessness.

Her thighs were thick, _too thick_ , and they appeared too white beneath the dress. She delved into the bottom of her wardrobe to find a pair of tan tights with a fishnet pattern in a last-ditch attempt to save some of her modesty. At least if her legs _felt_ covered, Brienne wouldn’t mind so much if they didn’t _look_ covered. She took consolation in the knowledge that she would not have to look at herself when she was out; she could pretend she didn’t look ridiculous as long as she couldn’t see herself. She donned her Docs, completing her outfit, and her phone buzzed again.

**Margaery:** _We’re here!!_

_Shit._ Brienne looked over herself one last time and sighed; she looked about as good as she was going to. Grabbing her purse, she quickly stuffed her keys, ID and phone into it, and headed out of her apartment, locking the door as she went.

The back window of Mace Tyrell’s car wound down, and Renly’s face greeted her. He grinned at her, put both of his thumbs up and _wolf-whistled_ at her. Brienne blushed, muttering, “Shut up,” as she walked around to the other side of the car to get in. Loras and Mace Tyrell both turned from their seats in the front to greet her politely; Margaery was in the middle seat at the back and she pulled Brienne into a hug before she could even close the door.

“You look so good!”

“I’m not feeling it,” Brienne laughed nervously. “It’s too much.”

“It’s perfect. You look great, Brienne.” Renly leaned around Margaery to agree with her. Brienne blushed.

“I’m doing your makeup,” Margaery announced.

“We’re in a moving car,” Brienne said, doubtful. “I’ll look too much like a drag queen anyway.”

“Don’t be silly,” Margaery muttered, leaning into Brienne with an eyeliner pencil that Brienne had failed to notice she’d had in her hand the entire time. “It’ll bring your beautiful eyes out.” She smiled at Brienne, and Brienne sighed in concession. She would do anything to make Margaery happy; her enthusiasm was infectious, and Brienne needed to lose her own nervous energy.

She didn’t do much to her face, for which Brienne was thankful. When she was finished, Margaery held up a compact mirror so that Brienne could inspect her handiwork. Surprisingly, Brienne was pleased with the outcome. The black around her eyes brought out the blue flecks in her irises. Her eyes had always been her favourite feature: the one thing about her that was objectively _not_ repulsive. She liked her eyes. She liked that _Jaime Lannister_ liked her eyes, though she still wasn’t sure what to do with that information.

Margaery had put a tiny amount of blush on her cheeks too, which, incredibly, seemed to complement her freckles rather than make them stand out. She’d offered to put some lipstick on her too, but Brienne had declined; her lips were already too big, and she didn’t need to draw any more attention to them. Instead, she put some of her trusty lip balm on as she did multiple times a day, whenever she got nervous. She hated nothing more than chapped lips, and it gave them a natural-looking shine so she didn’t look like she was trying too hard.

Brienne would never look _glamorous_ , but she was almost pleased with the way she looked now that Margaery had made her finishing touches. She no longer felt ugly. Drab, maybe; lacking in _something_. Overdressed, definitely. But not ugly. Besides, nobody in Ashemark knew her, and, if anyone were to make any unkind comments, she would not take them to heart. She’d heard every unkind comment a stranger might make countless times before. She felt safe knowing she could be this version of herself with her friends, and nobody else need ever see her dressed so boldly.

Or so she thought.

When they arrived at the tiny venue, they found a small booth and Brienne offered to get the first round in. It had been her idea to come out, after all. Renly volunteered to accompany her to the bar so that he could help her carry their drinks back to the table. The venue was cramped, and there was barely any room between tables. Brienne found herself too big at the best of times, but it was embarrassing to have to inelegantly squeeze through the gaps between tables. She murmured her apologies like a mantra as people tried to shift further under their tables to allow them past, and she cursed out loud when her ungainly hips eventually knocked into the back of someone’s chair, causing her to stumble.

An arm reached out to steady her.

“Tarth?”

_Shit._

She knew who the voice belonged to before she set eyes on him, of course, but she turned to face him anyway. “Fuck me, you’re everywhere,” she murmured in disbelief, a nervous laugh escaping her lips.

He laughed at her, a full-on laugh that she wouldn’t have guessed belonged to him if she hadn’t felt the vibration reverberate through her. Jaime Lannister’s hand was still on her arm. “You just can’t keep away from me, can you?”

Brienne started to blush, but a delicate cough caused Jaime to drop his arm and Brienne dragged her eyes away from his. She turned to see the most beautiful woman she had ever laid eyes on, with the same deep green gaze as her brother. _Cersei Lannister_. Brienne recognised her instantly. She’d heard rumours about the Lannister twins, fucked-up rumours, but she failed to see the similarities between them in anything but appearance. She could see no love between them, and so Brienne guessed that maybe they _were_ just rumours. Where Jaime’s eyes were warm, alive, hers were cold and deadly. Brienne was intimidated by Jaime, but in an entirely different way to the intimidation she felt now vulnerable to Cersei’s scrutinising gaze. And, here she was, dressed like a man in drag. _Mortifying_.

“Sorry. Brienne, this is my sister Cersei.” Jaime gestured between them. “Cers, my new friend Brienne Tarth.”

“Pleasure,” Cersei muttered, but she made no effort to make it sound convincing.

“Likewise,” Brienne replied, forcing a polite smile. She watched as Cersei looked her up and down in silent appraisal. Her gaze was drawn to Brienne’s bust, or lack thereof, and Brienne shifted uncomfortably.

“I like your… dress,” Cersei said, as though the words were a struggle. Brienne knew they were, of course, a blatant lie. Cersei wore a green satin blouse that fit her so well it might as well have been painted onto her torso. She was trying infinitely less than Brienne was to look good, and she was pulling it off with greater ease than Brienne could ever dream of. She was insultingly beautiful.

Brienne was relieved when Renly, who’d made his way all the way to the bar before realising Brienne had been waylaid, made his way back over to her. She looked at him in desperation, trying to wordlessly convey her discomfort, but he only looked at her and smiled, clearly reading nothing in her eyes. He turned to the person who was just lowering himself into the seat beside Cersei and he smiled in surprise.

“Good to see you, bro,” the man said, and Brienne mentally connected the dots. _Robert Baratheon_. Renly hadn’t told her that his brother was dating Cersei Lannister, but Brienne worked in journalism, and it was hard to avoid the trashy, gossip magazines when she was surrounded by them daily. Cersei and Robert had stolen most of the front pages fairly frequently of late.

Renly reached out to embrace his brother, and Jaime Lannister turned back to Brienne. “On a date?” He glanced at Renly smirking.

“You know we’re not,” Brienne hissed, blushing.

“Shame,” he said, avoiding his sister’s piercing gaze. He leaned in closer to Brienne, putting his hand on her waist again like he had the other night to draw her nearer to him, and he brought his lips to her ear. “You look hot, Tarth.”

Brienne knew he’d only said it to induce another of her flustered reactions, so she tried to fight off her blush, but to no avail. “Piss off,” she eventually managed, rolling her eyes at him.

She could tell Renly was looking at her now, so she took the opportunity to escape the Lannisters’ strange party. “Nice to meet you,” she blurted out in Robert and Cersei’s direction. Nodding once at Jaime, Brienne grabbed Renly’s outstretched hand and allowed him to pull her to the bar.

Brienne ordered their drinks, and gulped down half of hers before she’d even paid for them. Renly raised a perfectly-groomed eyebrow at her. “Didn’t know you and Lannister had a thing,” he probed.

“We don’t have a _thing_ ,” she hissed, looking around in case anybody had heard him. “We just keep meeting by chance.”

“Well, he quite clearly has a thing for you.”

“He quite clearly _doesn’t_.” Brienne gestured to herself as if to suggest nobody could have a thing for anybody who looked the way she did.

“Right, just don’t turn around because it’ll be obvious, but he keeps looking over at you.”

“You’re lying, Ren.”

“Am I?”

Brienne flushed at the thought of Jaime Lannister watching her do _anything_ , so she put her drink back down on the bar carefully, before turning to look behind her as though she were searching for somebody. When her eyes met Margaery’s, she smiled at her. When her eyes met Jaime’s as she turned back to the bar, she noticed he had been staring at her with an off-putting intensity.

_What in the seven hells was this guy’s deal?_


	3. Jaime II

_Are you really just going to sit here and watch them grope each other?_ Jaime asked himself in disgust, as he did exactly that. Robert Baratheon couldn’t keep his massive hands off Cersei, and Jaime felt jealous, possessive. Not that he could do anything to stop it. It wasn’t his place. He was Cersei’s brother, and _only_ her brother, until the time came again – which it inevitably would, because it always did – that she demanded he be her lover. Those times were rare nowadays; she had a new lover to rub in his face and she got off on doing just that. Jaime was positively convinced that Cersei didn’t actually like him as a person, as a brother, anymore. He was merely a plaything that she could use and discard at her own pleasure whenever she got bored or lonely. She’d spent the evening so far doing nothing but criticising him, droning on and on about how much he was missing out on by declining Tywin’s offer.

“Think of all the money you’d earn,” she’d said. But Jaime had never cared much for money. He seemed to be the only Lannister who didn’t. Jaime could be the wealthiest man in the world, he thought, but he’d be no less lonely. Cersei could take up Tywin’s stupid, fucking offer herself if she thought so highly of it.

Cersei had always been Tywin’s favourite. She was the most like him, after all. Perhaps if she’d been born with a cock, she might have been the heir Tywin was so desperate for, and Jaime might have been free to live a life without LION looming overhead. Cersei was born for the LION lifestyle. A corrupt business, for a corrupt family; Cersei was just as driven, just as fierce, just as downright _greedy_ as their father. She constantly took from Jaime, and he would constantly give – such was the disparity of their relationship. Jaime needed Cersei, but Cersei needed the attention. And she got attention everywhere she went. She could walk away, find a new plaything for a while, but she always knew that Jaime would be waiting for her on the sidelines whenever her temporary fun came to an end.

And he’d always take her back.

 _Always_.

He hated himself for it, but Jaime was very much helpless where his sister was concerned. His therapist had made him delve into his co-dependency issues for hours on end, and Jaime had spent many an afternoon with his skin crawling as he spoke their sordid, incestuous affair aloud. He knew it was sick, but he was caught in her web. He longed to free himself from the hold she had over him, but he didn’t know where to begin.

Jaime found himself looking over towards where Brienne Tarth sat with her unlikely group of friends, and he laughed inwardly when he noted the way she looked at Renly Baratheon. She was sat somewhat slouched in the booth, so Renly appeared taller than her, and she was smiling up at him through her lashes.

 _So desperate_ , Jaime thought. _She’s just as hopeless as I am._

He knew exactly where he’d rather be. Given the choice between sitting with his sister and the man who was now slowly sucking on her neck, and a bunch of brightly-coloured kids, Jaime would choose the kids. Rather, he would choose Brienne. And she wasn’t that much younger than him. He’d told her the other day, rather forwardly, that he liked her presence. She’d probably interpreted it as just another cruel quip intended to tease her or hurt her in some way, but Jaime had been deadly serious. There _was_ something in her blue eyes that soothed him. He felt as though he could go through the seven hells and back, and those eyes would ease any effects of torture.

And, yet, though her eyes were calm, her fire was invigorating. Jaime had always had an antagonistic personality, and most people met him and judged him as an arsehole before never speaking to him again. Brienne, however, was snarky right back. She gave as good as she got. Bickering with Brienne over the past week had given Jaime a real rush of satisfaction, as though they were sparring with words, at war with one another’s nerves.

Watching her with her friends now, Jaime could almost convince himself that only he knew that fiery side of her, as though he’d ignited that fire. She seemed happy enough with her friends, politely joking away, but he sensed she was a little restrained. And Jaime guessed it had naught to do with that dress that she quite clearly felt uncomfortable in. _Oh, that dress…_ But Jaime could tell it was an act of sorts. Not as if she were putting on a show and pretending to be someone she wasn’t, but she was definitely trying hard to fit into their circle, and Jaime could see, even from this distance, her hesitance. She cared what they thought about her, so every polite laugh, every nervous smile was calculated and methodical. He’d only really known her for a week, but she’d never acted as such around him. When she’d laughed or smiled at him, both rare occurrences, they had been natural, unplanned. If she didn’t find him funny, she hadn’t felt obligated to laugh. Jaime guessed that meant she didn’t give a fuck what he thought of her. _Good_. He liked her enough as she was.

Trying to ignore the soft sounds escaping his sister’s lips as Robert kissed her, Jaime watched as Brienne crossed her right leg over her left and then pulled on the hem of her dress, clearly conscious of how short it was. It couldn’t be short enough for Jaime’s liking. He’d told her she looked hot, and she did. Surprisingly. It wasn’t so much that Brienne looked good that surprised him, but that Jaime _thought_ she looked good. He’d not been attracted to anyone other than Cersei in a long time. He’d certainly not fantasised about any other woman wrapping her legs around his waist since he was about 14, but Brienne’s legs were something else entirely. She was a beauty in her own right.

And her legs were simply _astonishing_.

She wasn’t much taller than Jaime, but it was enough to make him feel small and submissive. He wanted her to pin him down and have her way with him. _Calm down_ , Jaime told himself. _You’re like a horny schoolboy._ Brienne was the furthest thing from Cersei, so there was no point fantasising about her. She would never use him for her own sexual satisfaction. Much to Jaime’s disappointment.

“Brother, you need to put your tongue back into your mouth.”

“What?” Jaime turned to see Cersei smiling at him, clearly amused.

“You’re staring at that big girl… I thought you were teasing her earlier when you said she looked hot, but now I’m not so sure.”

“She is hot.”

“Jaime.”

“Leave it, Cersei.”

“It’s none of my business,” Robert interrupted, “but surely you can set your sights on a woman with, y’know, a prettier face than that.”

“You’re right, it _is_ none of your business,” Jaime snapped.

“Jaime, don’t be so rude.” Cersei looked at him disapprovingly.

“Don’t be so cruel, then.”

Under the table, Cersei ran her leg up Jaime’s own in her own empty way of apologising. She never took responsibility for her own actions, just used her body against him. _How dare she be so fucking bold when her stupid boyfriend’s sitting right next to her_. He shifted in his seat to face the stage so that his legs were no longer accessible, and he heard Cersei huff in response.

When he saw Brienne Tarth rise from her seat, he instinctively rose from his own. “I’m going to the toilet,” he muttered, neither knowing nor caring whether Cersei heard. She certainly wouldn’t care.

“You again.” Brienne’s eyes narrowed at him when he all but bumped into her.

“You again,” he mimicked her, but he couldn’t hold back a smile.

“How’s your night going?” she asked, but Jaime could tell she’d rather be elsewhere. Small talk clearly wasn’t her thing.

“Wonderful,” Jaime said, making sure his voice was soaked in sarcasm. She raised an eyebrow at him. “No, it’s shit. Don’t know why I agreed to come, I hate my sister’s boyfriend.”

“Your sister’s very beautiful,” Brienne said, although it looked as though she regretted saying it before it had even left her lips.

“She’s a Lannister, of course she is.”

“You’re too modest.” Brienne rolled her eyes at him.

“You’re too kind.” Jaime smiled at her in jest. “How’s _your_ night going?”

Brienne sighed in response, and looked at Jaime warily. “Not too bad,” she started. “But it’s a bit awkward really. Renly and Loras can hardly keep their hands off one another and Margaery’s only encouraging them.”

“Jealous?” Jaime smirked. She’d walked right into that one.

“You know, that’s getting rather old now. You need to come up with some original material if you’re going to insist on teasing me.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can come up with something,” Jaime assured her. “Whatever the lady desires.”

“If that’s the case, I’d rather you not bother at all.”

“I think you secretly like it.”

“I assure you I don’t.”

Jaime smirked at her, running a hand through his hair. “Whatever you say.” His smirk increased when he watched her sapphire eyes follow the path of his hand through his hair.

“You’re a dick.”

“I know.”

“Could you move aside, please?” Jaime was momentarily offended, but she was looking longingly at the bathroom door behind him.

“Absolutely.” He made a show of pressing himself into the wall so she could get past him. “Need me to guard the door?”

“No. What the fuck?” she said, shooting him a scowl. “Don’t you need the toilet, or did you actually just follow me to harass me?”

“I think you already know the answer to that,” Jaime said, but he walked into the men’s room anyway. He didn’t really need to piss so he just leaned by the sink for half a minute, thankful that nobody else was in there, and he washed his hands for good measure anyway. He hoped he would beat her out, and he did. He hadn’t finished toying with her.

He stood, leaning, his left leg kicking at the wall behind him as he waited for her to re-emerge.

“What are you waiting for, Lannister?”

“You,” he said.

“Well, I’m sure my friends are waiting for me too,” she replied, trying to walk past him.

Jaime didn’t know why he did it, but he grabbed her by the wrist to stop her from walking away. She turned to him, irritation written all over her face, but Jaime spoke before she could.

“Wait.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Jaime muttered. He truly didn’t know. “I guess I don’t feel like third-wheeling again so soon, and I’ll look weird standing here on my own.”

“And standing here with me will make it look any less weird? We’re outside the toilets; it’s weird already, you idiot,” she said, but she made no attempt to move. Whatever she intended to say next died in her mouth when they were interrupted.

“Thanks for coming, guys.” A woman’s voice echoed through the speakers. “I’m Asha, this is Theon, and we are The Drowned God. This is our first ever public set, so please be patient. This first one’s called _Ironborn_.”

The sounds of an accordion and what Jaime guessed was a ukulele filled the air, and what Jaime guessed was Asha’s voice floated towards them. “That is _not_ what I expected,” Jaime told Brienne.

“Me neither,” she said, turning to him with the same bewildered expression on her face. Jaime had been expecting some kind of heavy, nu-metal music, but, instead, The Drowned God’s sound gave off more of an experimental folk-rock vibe. It sounded almost like a sea shanty.

“I like it.” Jaime smiled, peering around the corner of the corridor so that they could see the band from the side. “Not my usual thing, but they’re doing it well.”

Brienne looked at him suspiciously.

“What?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I guess I was waiting for you to say something insulting about them.”

Jaime laughed. “I’m not a _total_ arsehole, you know. I can be nice when I want to be.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Brienne replied, but she grinned at him and Jaime knew she was just toying with him.

“Guess it’d be rude to move now,” he said. “We’d only interrupt their set by making everybody move to get back to our seats.”

“So we’re actually gonna watch them by the toilets?”

“Yep.” Jaime laughed at the expression on her face. She shook her head, and then laughed along with him.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this, but ok.”

So they watched and listened by the toilets. Jaime really enjoyed their sound. Asha’s voice had a peculiar lilt to it, almost haunting. It wasn’t really a gig, more like a little set, but what they did was impressive. Even down to their lighting, Jaime thought. Everything about their set was done well; simplistic, but it got the job done. They played only five songs, and their last song came much sooner than Jaime would have liked.

“Thank you,” the man, who Jaime guessed was Theon, said. “You’ve all been so kind tonight, thanks for the support. This last one’s called _Sod the Seven_ , and it’s a bit of a miserable one.” Jaime heard people in the crowd laugh. “Thanks again.”

Theon was right. It was a bit miserable. Jaime turned to make a witty comment, but he stopped himself when he caught sight of Brienne’s face. A pale blue glow from the stage lighting appeared to split her face in half. The side closest to Jaime was in darkness, but the other side was illuminated. Standing beside him, Brienne looked almost ethereal in the light; the sapphire of her right eye sparkled in the luminescence. _Yep_ , Jaime thought. _Still hot._

Brienne turned to look at him inquisitively, having obviously felt his gaze on her for so long. Jaime fumbled for something to say that wouldn’t sound weird. “Um… So…” He inwardly cursed himself. Sensing that the song was about to end, he finally blurted out, “When will I see you again?”

“Oh,” she murmured in shock. “I don’t know. Obsidian, maybe? Monday at The Rock?”

“It’s a date.”

“Wait, what?” Brienne replied, flustered. “Were you actually going to cover them or not?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I am now.”

She eyed him warily. “We should probably go back to our seats now, I guess… Monday?”

“Monday,” he confirmed, gesturing for her to lead the way back through the maze of tables. When he returned to his own seat, Jaime was disgusted to see Cersei sitting in Robert’s lap. “You could always just get a room, you know.”

“Jaime.” Cersei smiled at him in that malicious way of hers. “You’re back then. I take it you got bored of your little beast?”

“Cers,” he warned, glaring. “If you say one more thing–”

But Jaime didn’t get to finish his threat because Robert had cut him off, not that he knew how he would have finished it had he had the opportunity.

“Come on, love,” Robert had said to Cersei. “He’s right. We should probably call it a night.”

Cersei looked as though she wanted to stay and torment Jaime some more, but Robert tried to shuffle her off his lap. “Fine,” she muttered, knocking back the rest of her wine in three big gulps. “You need to give your head a shake, brother,” she sneered at Jaime, as Robert helped her into her jacket.

Jaime did not know whether she was referring to Tywin or Brienne, but he didn’t value her input regardless. He ignored her comment, and merely raised his orange juice to her in mock politeness. “Dream sweet dreams, sister.”

“Jaime.” Robert nodded at him in farewell.

“Robert.” Jaime nodded in return. “Look after her,” he added. No matter how much Cersei hurt him, he still loved her. He hated to watch her leave with another man, especially when she’d had so much to drink. He only hoped that Robert was good to her. Not that it was any of Jaime’s business.

Though the band had packed up, music was still blaring out of the bar’s speakers at the same volume. Jaime sat and listened to the bar’s playlist in his solitude, staring into his orange juice. He didn’t know how long he did so. Cersei’s words were ringing in his ears again.

_You can’t defy father forever._

_You’re wasting such an enormous opportunity. Just suck it up and take it._

_Your pathetic rag of a magazine has had its day now, sell it while you’re on the up._

She didn’t understand. Somehow, though he and Cersei had shared the same childhood, Cersei had found it within herself to forgive Tywin for his negligence. Hells, it was worse than that; she didn’t even seem to believe there was anything to forgive him for. She handled their absentee father better than Jaime ever could. He didn’t understand why she was so unaffected by it; she didn’t understand why Jaime held a grudge. She was more persistent than even Tywin himself.

_Imagine, Jaime. You’ll be CEO one day._

_Think of the money_.

Even Tyrion was under Tywin’s spell, not that he’d ever admit it to himself. He was too proud. Jaime was very much the lame cub of the family. His pride would thrive much better if they all just left him to fend for himself. He’d made his own way through life thus far, what good would bowing to Tywin’s will do now? _None_.

Vying to distract himself, Jaime drew himself from the depths of his own mind back into the present and turned his head towards Brienne Tarth’s table once again. He recognised Loras and Renly, and he assumed the girl next to Loras was his sister Margaery. Renly was playing with Loras’ hand, and Margaery seemed to be in deep conversation with Asha and Theon from The Drowned God who had apparently joined them while Jaime was deep in thought.

Brienne was nowhere to be seen.

Jaime guessed she must have gone to the toilet again, but he found he was incorrect. She was sitting at the bar. Next to a man. Laughing at him. Jaime had no right to be jealous, and yet he felt it anyway. He hardly even knew the woman, and he’d done a good job of making sure she found his existence a constant irritation.

Jaime had been all but ready to go home, but he suddenly couldn’t resist making his way over to the bar. “Packet of salt and vinegar, please,” he told the barman, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. Brienne had her back to him, facing the man she was chatting to; Jaime dared to glance in their direction. The man was instantly forgettable. He wasn’t unattractive, but there was nothing especially remarkable about his face. Hyle Hunt. He’d seen him at many a gig. He wrote too, but Jaime had always considered his writing about as bland as his appearance. Jaime thought Brienne could do better than him in every respect.

“Alright, Lannister? Seems we’ve got a reunion on our hands,” Hunt joked, gesturing between the three of them. Brienne swivelled in her seat at the mention of his name. Jaime remained straight-faced.

“Looks that way,” Jaime said, loudly opening his packet of crisps. “Brienne, you didn’t tell me you knew Hunt.”

“I– I don’t. Not really,” she replied, shooting an apologetic glance at Hunt. He merely shrugged. Jaime was pleased they had no existing acquaintance.

“How about we do some shots?” Hyle asked, addressing Jaime rather than Brienne.

“Not a big drinker, I’m afraid,” Jaime said.

“No? Shame.” Hunt smirked at him. “I thought the Kingslayer would be game for a bit of fun.”

 _Slimy little shit_. He must have known about Jaime’s sobriety somehow. “I’m sorry if I don’t equate inebriation with fun. Don’t let me spoil your night, though,” Jaime said.

When Hunt turned to the barman to request some shots, Jaime turned to Brienne. He didn’t like Hunt, and he didn’t like the way Brienne’s eyes were already glazed over. She’d probably had more than enough to drink already. “Be careful,” he told her. “You’ll regret it in the morning if you have too much.”

“Oh, live a little, Lannister,” she replied, but her voice was unsteady. _Definitely drunk_. “Who are you? The alcohol police?”

“What the fuck, Brienne?” Jaime suddenly felt quite angry. She might not have known the reason why he was sober, but she certainly knew he hadn’t touched a drink in months. Rather than let his anger out on her, though, he just sighed. “I’m just looking out for you. Don’t let him,” he jerked his thumb in Hunt’s direction, whose attention was still on the barman, “make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

He wasn’t in a position to dictate who she should drink with, and he’d certainly got nothing more to say to Hunt, so Jaime shrugged past the pair of them to sit on the far side of the bar with his crisps. He crunched them in anger, watching Brienne and Hunt interact from afar. Brienne seemed to be laughing too hard at whatever he was saying. _She’s flirting with him_ , he thought. _There’s no way that slimeball is actually funny._ He watched as they licked salt off their hands, clinked their shot glasses together, and knocked them back in synchronisation, before sucking on a piece of lemon.

Tequila.

Jaime had just made it his mission to make sure Brienne made it home safely.

Her friends seemed perfectly happy for her to drink herself into oblivion with a strange man, but Jaime was familiar with every single one of the seven hells brought on by drinking, and he didn’t want Brienne to fall down that same hole. He didn’t want anyone to experience what he had.

“She’s fucking weird, that one.”

Jaime turned his head to the source of the voice. _It IS a fucking reunion,_ Jaime thought, laying eyes on Ronnet Connington. He’d expected a quiet night all the way out here in Ashemark, and yet he’d somehow found himself in a room full of the very same people he’d spent last Saturday night with.

“Excuse me?” Jaime said.

“That Brienne,” Connington elaborated. “What the fuck does she thing she looks like in that dress?”

“She looks good.”

Connington let out a hideous guffaw at that. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not a drop,” Jaime stated coolly. He didn’t like Connington any more than he liked Hunt. He certainly did not like the way he spoke about Brienne. “What’s your deal with her anyway? I saw the look between you two last week. There’s history there.”

“With Brienne?”

“Who else?” Jaime thought he might have got a better conversation out of a brick wall. How Connington could write for a living was beyond Jaime when he seemed incapable of stringing two sentences together, and had all the eloquence of a bin bag.

“Blind date,” he snorted. “Our dads had worked together on a few projects, and they decided to set us up. I was all for it. Selwyn’s business is much more profitable than my dad’s, so I thought I’d get my old man a business deal if nothing else. That, and I thought I might have got a decent shag out of it.”

Jaime shifted uncomfortably in his seat. There was nothing he hated more than misogynistic dicks who thought of a woman as nothing more than her cunt. He bit his tongue, waiting for the rest of the story.

“I’d never been more offended in my life than when I first laid eyes on her. Imagine being set up with a creature like that! All thoughts of my dad’s business deal left my head immediately, and there’s no way I could have got it up to even take her from behind after I’d seen the hideous mess she calls a face. She’s–”

Jaime punched him.

“What the fuck!” Connington’s hands flew up to his nose, which was almost certainly broken. “What’s got _your_ knickers in a twist where she’s concerned?”

“Have some respect, you cretin,” Jaime spat at him before walking away. He found himself in the toilets, washing the blood off his hand and watching the water dilute the scarlet. He looked at himself in the mirror and took a few deep breaths. It had been a long time since Jaime had hit anybody. It had been a long time since he’d needed to. Cersei could look after herself now, and Jaime only became violent when it came to protecting those he was closest to.

He wondered if Brienne had witnessed him lose his temper. He hoped not. How could he explain to her what Connington had said to deserve it? He splashed some cold water over his face as if it might snap him out of his raw fury, and he turned off the tap. He left the toilets, swinging the door open with so much force that it bounced off the wall loudly. He was still shaking. Still violently angry.

He found that Connington had made himself scarce, and he was momentarily relieved. His relief quickly became concern when he found that Hunt and Brienne were likewise absent. _Shit. Shit, shit, shit_. His eyes darted around the room, hoping he’d see her head towering over everybody else’s, but she simply wasn’t there. He was on his way outside, when he caught sight of Renly Baratheon.

“Oi, Baratheon!” he called, and Renly looked towards him.

“Alright, Jai–”

“No. I’m not. Have you seen Brienne?”

“Not for a while, no,” he said, shrugging. “She was with some dude.”

“Do you often let your friends just disappear with ‘some dude’?

“No, well–”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Jaime ran a hand through his hair, terrified of where she might have been taken. He didn’t trust Hunt one bit. “You’re a shit friend, do you know that? She deserves better than you.”

He stormed away from him, furious. The warm evening air hit him when he made it out, and he was glad it was summer. It was still light enough that he could see, even at 10:30pm. There was nobody in the smoking area, and there was nothing but parked cars on the street ahead of him.

But then he heard a whimper, and his blood boiled within his veins. There was an alley over the road, and he knew exactly what he would find when he made it there. He prayed to the seven that he’d be wrong and that she’d be safe.

But he was right.

That cunt Hunt had her pressed up against the side of the closed corner shop. They were both fully clothed, which Jaime was relieved to see, but Hunt was doing his damnedest to untie the strings on her dress, and he was on his tiptoes, grinding his hips into Brienne’s almost violently. Brienne was struggling, but she’d had too much to drink; Jaime wouldn’t have put it past Hunt to have slipped something into her drink when she wasn’t looking, either. It was plain to see, and to hear, that Brienne did _not_ want Hunt’s hands on her.

Jaime marched over to them and dragged Hunt off Brienne by the back of his collar, pushing him harshly to the side. Hyle stumbled, drunk, and Jaime took the opportunity to check Brienne over. He placed a hand on her cheek gently, and moved her face so that she’d be forced to look at him.

“You good?” he asked quietly. She nodded meekly. It was a stupid question, and Jaime knew it. _Of course she wasn’t good_. But at least he’d reached her in time. It didn’t make Jaime’s heart lurch any less when he saw the huge tears rolling down her face.

He turned back to Hunt who was watching them warily, as if trying to calculate whether or not it would be worth trying to run. Jaime stalked him slowly, like a lion ready to pounce. When he was close enough, he grabbed him by the throat and pushed him up against the wall. “I swear to fuck… if you _ever_ touch her again, I’ll kill you. Alright? You’re a disgrace,” he spat at him. “Now piss off home and thank the gods I haven’t chopped your pathetic cock off.”

Jaime released him, and Hunt looked at him for a moment before he disappeared, not giving Brienne a second glance.

Jaime returned to Brienne’s side, and watched as she sank down to her knees, burying her head in her hands, sobbing. He lowered himself beside her, and rubbed her back awkwardly. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. Not really.”

“Good. I could fucking murder him.”

“Don’t. He’s not worth it.”

“He’s not worth a hair on your head.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, before another sob escaped her lips.

Jaime tightened his arm around her. “You don’t have to thank me, silly. It’s not your fault he’s a sick fuck.”

Brienne laughed at him, and Jaime’s heart fluttered. He was so relieved nothing worse had happened to her.

“Come on,” he said, standing up and offering her his hand. “I’ll get you home safe.”

“You don’t have to,” she said, taking his hand. He pulled her to her feet.

“No. But I’m going to,” he told her. She didn’t argue. “Here,” he said. “You probably need it more than I do.”

He shrugged out of his leather jacket and held it out to her. She wiped her tears away, but didn’t make a move to accept it. “Come on,” he encouraged. “Humour me.”

She laughed at him and took it from him. It fit her almost as well as it fit Jaime. She pulled the sleeves over her hands and wrapped her arms around herself protectively. She was doing a good job of pretending she was ok, but Jaime knew otherwise. He put his arm gently around her shoulder and guided her to the car park, silently thanking all seven gods that he made it to her in time.

There was no way he could have lived with himself if he'd let it happen again.


	4. Brienne II

“If you grip me any tighter, you’re going to shatter my ribcage!”

Brienne had never feared more for her life. She was drunk. She was shaking. She was holding onto Jaime Lannister as if her life depended on it. She was amazed she’d even been able to hear him over the monstrous sound of the bike’s engine. Brienne had never been on a motorbike before, not that she’d ever been particularly inclined to; now that she was on one, she certainly had no desire to make it a recurrent experience. Jaime had given her his helmet to make her feel safer, but it hadn’t eased her much. Her centre of gravity was all off-kilter because of her height, she was still feeling the effects of her intoxication, and she was convinced her additional weight would no doubt impact the way Jaime drove the bike. No, this was absolutely _not_ an enjoyable experience.

It was, however, still infinitely more enjoyable than what had occurred mere moments before Jaime had led her to his bike. Brienne had never been more ashamed of herself. She’d drank far too much and then followed a strange man outside, breaking every rule she knew. _What the hells was I thinking?_ Jaime had tried to tell her it wasn’t her fault, but a part of Brienne still blamed herself. If it wasn’t for her own sheer stupidity, she’d never have felt Hyle Hunt’s cock rubbing up against her. It might have been over their clothes, but Brienne felt dirty. Violated and abused. If it hadn’t have been for Jaime being on the look out… well, _gods_ ¸ it simply didn’t bear thinking about.

“I’m sorry,” Brienne shouted over the engine, but made no attempt to loosen her vice-like hold on him.

“Stop apologising!” he shouted back, and Brienne felt the bike slow to a slightly less terrifying speed. And then she felt guilty all over again, because Jaime Lannister had been nothing but kind and respectful and considerate all evening, and Brienne had spent most of her day trying to remind herself of his arrogance. He’d already been going way under the speed limit for Brienne’s sake (so as not to upset her stomach), but now they were all but crawling along the dual carriageway, which was probably hazardous in itself.

But this guy, who, a week ago Brienne would have found no problem in cursing with every expletive under the sun, had suddenly come to mean something to her. Inexplicably. And she’d been a bitch to him tonight for no reason. Alcohol was no excuse. She should have known better than to have thrown his sobriety in his face like that, insinuating he was no fun for not wanting a drink. It wasn’t fair of her to say something like that, and it wasn’t usually like Brienne to be so insensitive; she would certainly have to apologise for it later. If he’d let her utter another apology that was. She’d never been more ashamed of herself. For treating Jaime unnecessarily harshly when he’d quite plainly been having a rough night anyway, and for acting a half-witted fool and mooning over a strange man. _Silly, stupid girl._

What made the whole situation worse was that Brienne knew why she’d done it. It wasn’t the alcohol. Maybe it had played a role in encouraging her idiocy, but it wasn’t the cause of it. It was her self-esteem, or lack thereof. Hells, it was pathetic, but she knew it was true; the guy was a bastard, but Brienne would still give herself all the blame. Because it _was_ her fault, wasn’t it? She was moronic and she was senseless, but she’d been enjoying the attention. A man had approached her at the bar, with a not-so-awful face and a suitable smile, and she’d allowed herself to feel _wanted_.

She’d felt that maybe, _somehow_ , a man actually found her attractive. And not in the jokey way that Jaime Lannister had said he did. No, Hyle had been decent enough, and Brienne had been silly enough to lap up his attention, no matter how flimsy the compliments or how dull the conversation had been. He was unremarkable enough to look upon that it was almost believable; Brienne felt almost desirable. But it seemed that the only thing Hyle Hunt _desired_ was a quick fuck in an alley, and, despite being a writer, he’d obviously never encountered a dictionary because he had clearly never thought to consider the definition of the word ‘consent’.

_Thank the gods for Jaime Lannister._

“Oh, shit.”

“You good?” Jaime looked at her, concerned, through one of his rear-view mirrors. Before Brienne could elaborate, he’d indicated and pulled over to the hard shoulder. He turned off the engine and hopped off the bike, turning to her. “What’s up?”

“I, uh– I think– I think I might have left my bag with Margaery. Or at the bar. I– I can’t remember.”

Jaime lifted the visor on her helmet. He looked even more handsome somehow, Brienne thought, than he had through the tinted glass. “Do you need it?”

“Well, uh– I– My keys are in there, so…”

“Yes, but do you need it?”

“I just–”

“You don’t _need_ your keys. You can take my bed for the night, it’s no problem. As long as there’s nothing you need on a life-or-death basis, we can just head for my place instead. We’re much closer to Lannisport now than we are to Ashemark, and I’m not sure your nerves could hack an elongated bike ride, right? You don’t take any medication or anything that you’re desperate for?”

“No.” Brienne blushed. _A night in Jaime Lannister’s bed? Who would have guessed it?_

“Great, so that’s that sorted. You can use my phone to send your friends a message or something if you want to. If it turns out they don’t have your bag we can call the bar to see if it’s been handed in.”

“Oh, I have my phone,” Brienne said.

“You do? Where?” Jaime raised an eyebrow at her.

“I, uh– I tucked it into my boot.” Brienne felt the blood rush to her cheeks again.

“What?” he asked bewildered. “How is there even enough room in there for a phone?” He looked down at her boots, and her legs suddenly felt very exposed again. “Isn’t that extremely uncomfortable.”

“It’s not great,” she laughed nervously. “I guess I must have known something was about to happen when I went to the bar. Shit. My friends… They– they must be wondering where I am. I should–”

Brienne watched as Jaime clenched his jaw somewhat angrily, somehow improving his already immaculate, angular jawline. “I wouldn’t give them so much credit,” he snapped.

“What?”

“Your _friend_ , Renly, needs a rocket up his arse, quite frankly; maybe that might have spurred him into action.” He looked at Brienne as if his meaning was obvious. Brienne thought she might have been able to follow his trail had she had less to drink, but it wasn’t computing after so many tequilas. Jaime continued, “I bumped into him just after I’d noticed you’d disappeared, and he didn’t seem fazed at all that you’d just _vanished_ with a strange bloke. By all means, text him to let him know you’re alright, but it’s me you should be thanking, not him.”

“Thank you,” Brienne said, for what must surely be the hundredth time. “I don’t think you understand how truly grateful I am.”

“I didn’t mean it literally. You don’t owe me anything, least of all your thanks.” He waved a hand, as if writing off the act of saving Brienne from certain rape as mundane, just an everyday good deed. “I was just trying to express to you the ineptitude of your _friend_ ,” he said. “You needn’t place him on such a high pedestal.”

Brienne dropped her gaze at the same time as her heart dropped. She was not stupid. She knew there was a disparity between how much she cared for Renly and how much he cared for her, but she’d never really experienced it on such a level. She felt an abject hollowness in her chest. Maybe she _was_ better off alone. At least before she had a social circle, she didn’t fear rejection.

“Hey,” Jaime said, his warm hand suddenly on hers. “You’ve already had a shit night, don’t start upsetting yourself again by thinking too much into things now. I’m sure he was worried about you in his own way.”

“We both know that’s not true,” Brienne muttered. “You’ve already told me you think I’m wasting my time on him.”

“You can do much better than the likes of Renly Baratheon. Trust me.” He squeezed her hand. “Look, I know how it feels to be the one who loves too much. It’s shit. It really is. And I’m a hypocrite for telling you to get over him when I can’t even follow my own advice, but please believe me when I tell you that he could not hold a candle to you. Don’t allow him so much power over you.”

Brienne didn’t know how to respond. As if Jaime Lannister could ever have been in her situation; one look at him and anyone was doomed to fall at his feet. There was no universe in which he could _possibly_ be the one with unrequited feelings. She nodded at him wordlessly, removing her hand from his to retrieve her phone from her boot.

Jaime laughed at her and shook his head in disbelief. “Weirdo.”

Brienne stuck the middle finger of her left hand up at him, whilst she unlocked her phone with her right hand. She had eight missed calls from Renly, and ten from Margaery. Even Loras had tried four times. “Oh, gods.” Brienne was secretly relieved to see that, though they might not have been as worried as Jaime had been, they hadn’t been totally blasé about her disappearance.

 **Brienne:** _Hey, got into a spot of bother but I’m safe and on my way home with a friend. Sorry I went all AWOL on you all. Did I leave my bag with you guys?_

 **Margaery:** _Oh, thank goodness!!!_

 **Margaery:** _Yes, I have your bag_

 **Margaery:** _Hold on_

Brienne’s phone started to ring, and she was not surprised to see that Margaery was calling her.

“What the _hells_ happened to you, Brie?! I thought something awful must have happened!”

 _It did_ , Brienne thought.

“I’m fine,” she told her. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell you another time.”

“Are you _sure_ you’re safe? Absolutely positive?”

“One hundred per cent safe.”

“Good. Hang on– What?” Brienne heard someone else’s voice over the line. “Renly wants to know how you’re gonna get home without your keys.”

“Oh. I– I’m staying with a friend.”

“A friend? Who?”

“Um… Jaime Lannister.” She all but whispered his name down the phone in embarrassment.

“ _Jaime Lannister?!_ Oh my gods, Brienne! What? You need to tell me _everything_ tomorrow, but you need to stop wasting your time talking to me now! Go have fun! Be safe!”

“No. No, Margaery. It’s not like _that_. Hello?” Brienne looked at her phone, but she knew Margaery had already hung up. Brienne’s face was ablaze. _Oh, please gods, don’t let him comment on my embarrassment now_.

As if the Seven had heard her, Jaime either didn’t hear it or chose not to take her up on it. “Ready to go?” he asked.

“About as ready as I’ll ever be.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said, lowering the visor back down on her helmet. Then, he tapped the top of her helmet twice in the same way you might pet a dog. “Just hold onto me as tightly as you need to. I promise I won’t go too fast,” he assured her.

Brienne was comforted by his concern for her fear, but she was also embarrassed that she even felt fear. She normally prided herself on being mostly unfazed by things, but here she was exposing her vulnerability to the man who would most likely wield it against her to mock her in the future. “I really am grateful, you know? I’m sorry you’re having to go to all this trouble.”

“I don’t want to hear your apologies, Brienne. How many times do I have to tell you? Honestly, it’s no big deal. I’d planned on offering you the option of a lift back anyway as soon as I saw that creep leering over you and buying you so many drinks, not that I thought you’d accept it.”

He climbed back onto the bike before Brienne could reply, so all she could do was wrap her arms around his waist, hope her gratitude would be conveyed via her fearful embrace, and pray to the Seven that she wouldn’t fall off.

Luckily, she did not.

Jaime was right when he’d said they were much closer to Lannisport, because, despite how slow they were going, they were pulling into his garage in no time. His garage that just _happened_ to have an automatic door that rose instantly on their arrival. Brienne was amazed. _How rich is this guy?_ Brienne suddenly felt very much like a mouldy, old groat in the company of a shiny, golden dragon: worthless. And, yet, Jaime Lannister must have seen something worth rescuing in her.

He cut the engine and hopped off the bike in one move, quickly attempted to run a hand through his now knotted, windswept hair, and turned to Brienne. “See? Home in one piece.” He grinned at her, and Brienne felt her heart lurch. _Nobody should have the right to look so good, especially not when his hair was in such disarray._

“I’m never doing that again,” Brienne declared.

“Oh, but you are,” Jaime returned. “How else will you get home tomorrow?”

“I’ll walk.” Brienne reckoned it was about an hour and a half’s walk back to her own place. Twenty minutes on a bike would be more convenient, but also more terrifying.

“We’ll see. I personally don’t think you’ll be in any fit state to walk.” He smirked at her. “You’re going to regret that tequila.”

“I don’t get hangovers.”

“We’ll see,” he repeated. He reached out, pulling his helmet off her head. “Perfect,” he said. “Not a hair out of place.” Brienne felt her cheeks betray her again.

“The same can’t be said for you,” Brienne returned, daring to laugh at him.

Jaime scowled at her, which made her laugh even louder. He tucked the helmet under his right arm, and ran his left through his hair again.

“Oh, leave it,” she said. “You look fine enough. Don’t be so vain.” _‘Fine enough’, now there’s an understatement._

“I’m not vain at all,” Jaime argued, but he smirked at her. “Now, how the hells are we going to get you off this thing?”

Brienne blushed. In truth, she was in a bit of a predicament. The stupid, gods-forsaken dress she’d opted to wear had caused her nothing but discomfort all night, and, when the time had come for her to get on Jaime’s bike, she had been mortified. She’d all but flashed him when she’d raised one of her long legs to clamber onto the seat, though he’d respected her modesty and said nothing. Until now, it seemed; now it appeared he was ready to tease her about it.

_Seven help me._

Before they’d set off, Brienne had taken Jaime’s jacket off and wrapped it around her waist, tying the arms around her back to create something that vaguely resembled a loin cloth and carried the same purpose. It was just _so_ humiliating to sit there feeling so exposed. Especially when Jaime had let out a snort at her innovative attempt to cover up. She could no longer remember why she’d even allowed Margaery to convince her to buy the dress, let alone how she’d convinced herself to wear it. It was just so damn _short_ and so damn _tight_ that, by the time she’d hitched it up her thighs to allow herself the freedom of movement enough to straddle the bike, she might as well have been naked from the waist down, bar her faded knickers and useless tights. Brienne had vowed then and there to buy herself new underwear immediately; she hadn’t realised the importance of pretty knickers until she’d pretty much revealed her old faithfuls to Jaime Lannister.

“Just… look away, I’ll figure it out myself,” Brienne told him. Jaime laughed at her, but obliged, turning his back on her. But it was just so difficult to manoeuvre such long legs at the best of times, and Brienne was drunk. Drunk, and still petrified that the bike might topple over from beneath her. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath as she felt the bike wobble.

“Oh, come here,” Jaime said, having turned to see her struggling. “Put your arm around my back,” he instructed, as he wound his own arm around her. She followed his lead. “Gods, you’re freezing, Brienne,” he said, rubbing his arm against her back in a feeble attempt to warm her up. “Right, just lean into me and th– Don’t worry, I’ll look elsewhere.” He laughed at her, sensing some hesitance. “I’ve got you, you won’t fall. Just try to lift your leg over.”

Brienne glanced at him to check he definitely wasn’t looking, and then somehow managed to swing her leg over with ease. She’d never been more thankful for solid ground.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Jaime smirked at her.

Brienne ignored him, pulling at the hem of her dress to cover herself back up properly with her free hand. “This is going straight in the bin when I get home,” she muttered in annoyance, more to herself than to him.

Jaime laughed at her frustration, another proper laugh like he had done earlier in the night. Brienne smiled at him, his humour infectious. “Come on. Inside,” he commanded, leading her out of the garage.

 _He still has his arm around me_ , Brienne thought almost giddily. She could tell the alcohol was kicking in now, because she was starting to think silly thoughts about Jaime Lannister that she surely would not think of sober. She briefly considered removing her own arm from around his back, thinking maybe he’d just forgotten that they were holding onto each other. She decided against it. He was very warm, and she felt very safe.

Jaime’s apartment was everything Brienne would have imagined if she’d spent any time wondering where a man like him might live. Sleek, modern, _expensive_. From the doorway, she could see he had some vinyl records adorning the slightly off-white walls, but no photos of family and friends. A mostly empty bookcase, but for a few self-help books whose spines appeared untouched, and a stack of magazines. A bare coat rack, as though the only jacket he owned was the one still wrapped around Brienne’s front. It was all strangely personal, in a deeply impersonal way. In his possessions, Brienne sensed a loneliness in him that she’d been previously blind to.

Jaime kicked off his shoes and then finally released Brienne to reach down for them. Brienne squatted awkwardly to unlace her boots. “Anything else in those?” Jaime asked her with a characteristic smirk.

“ _They’re_ cute,” she said without thinking, completely ignoring his teasing. Jaime looked at her in confusion, but, after he’d followed her gaze to his socks, Brienne could have sworn he was… _blushing?_

“Shut up,” he snapped.

But they _were_ cute. Or, rather, it was cute that Jaime was wearing them. They were nothing special. A dull grey in colour, but they were covered in musical notes and clefs. Whether he’d bought them for himself or someone had bought them for him as a gift, he had still elected to wear them. Brienne thought that choosing to wear them revealed more of his personality than anything he’d chosen to decorate his apartment with.

“Do you have a toilet?” Brienne asked, sparing his humility.

“No, I usually just piss in the sink.”

“Don’t be a dick, Lannister.” She rolled her eyes at him.

“First door on the left,” he said. “I’ll get you something to change into.”

“Oh, you don’t ha–”

“Well I’m not having you sit in that dress all night,” he argued, already on his way into what Brienne assumed to be his bedroom.

When she made it into the bathroom, she took in her ghastly appearance in the mirror. She looked awful. More awful than normal. She’d been crying, so her eyes were red and her cheeks unusually puffy. Alone for the first time since Jaime had dragged Hyle off her, she suddenly felt dirty. She found herself in tears again: unexpected, heaving, wracking sobs that forcefully shook her entire body, and she felt as though the stupid dress was suffocating her. She pulled at the strings and wrestled her way out of it, desperate to be rid of it. She left it in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Standing in nothing but her tights and knickers, Brienne jumped when she heard a light knocking on the door. “Are you ok?” Jaime said, in a voice softer than she could have imagined.

She took two deep breaths before she replied. He’d almost definitely heard her crying, but she thought if she could speak without her voice faltering that maybe he’d think he’d imagined it. “I’m fine,” she called. She didn’t think he’d believe her for one minute.

“I’ve got some clothes for you,” he said behind the door, again too soft.

“Oh, um– One second,” she said, moving into the corner of the room so that, if he entered, she’d be hidden by the open door. “Um, could you– Could you come in and just… leave them on the floor or something?”

The door opened slowly. Brienne heard the soft thump of clothing hitting the tiled bathroom floor, and then the sound of the door closing again. They were his clothes, a red hoodie and grey sweatpants, but they fit her as well as if they were her own. He’d also left a pair of socks for her, a pair that matched his own. Brienne wiped her eyes, smiling stupidly at the socks and the adorable thought that he owns more than one pair with that pattern. _I’m safe_ , she thought as she pulled them onto her feet. _Jaime saved me_.

She gathered up her dress and tights, and followed the sound of a kettle boiling into Jaime’s kitchen. “Coffee?” he asked, his back to her.

“If it’s no trouble,” she said somewhat timidly.

“I’ll swap you.” He placed a steaming mug of coffee on the table in front of her, and reached to take the bundle of discarded clothing from her. “Bin?” he asked.

Brienne nodded. She felt a strange sense of relief watching him dispose of the dress. “Thank you,” she said.

“Stop that. Sit down,” he ordered, taking to his own seat. He tossed a box of paracetamol onto the table in front of her and it skidded across it, landing in her lap. _This is bizarre_ , Brienne thought. When she’d planned this evening, a midnight coffee in Jaime Lannister’s apartment was the furthest thing from her itinerary.

The guilt came flooding back to her. “I’m sorry,” she started, but he held up a hand to stop her. “No,” she continued. “Hear me out. I know what happened with Hyle wasn’t my fault, but I’m sorry for ruining your night regardless.”

“Trust me, Tarth, I was having a shit night before then. You were the highlight.”

Brienne blushed. “I was a bitch to you at the bar though. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“Leave it,” he said. “I’m not so easily offended. Can I ask you to promise me one thing, though?”

“I guess?” Brienne was suddenly wary.

“If you ever find yourself out alone at night or if you ever feel even just a tiny bit uncomfortable somewhere, call me. Please. I’d hate for anything worse to happen to you.”

“O– ok.” Her voice wobbled slightly.

“Pass me your phone, then,” he said. She unlocked it and passed it to him, watching in dismay as he added his number into her contacts. He was being so kind. No. He’d gone above and beyond everyday kindness. Brienne didn’t know exactly what was unfolding between them, but she felt as though they had a better understanding of one another than they should after only one week. He’d been an insufferable fool at first, but now he was showing her more care than she felt she deserved. And he was growing on her faster than she dared to admit.

“You know, you’re not as bad as I thought at first.” The alcohol in her system had made her bold enough to give him the back-handed compliment.

“I was actively _trying_ to be a dick at first, though. Your reactions were too entertaining.” Jaime laughed. He took a sip of coffee before speaking again. “I don’t blame you for thinking the worst of me, though. Everybody else does. Ever since that whole _kingslayer_ stunt, I’ve come to just expect people’s contempt.”

“I don’t think you’re the villain they painted you out to be,” Brienne told him.

“I’m no hero, though.” He sighed.

“You saved me.”

“I suppose I did.” He looked at her intensely for a moment as if debating something. “You know the story, right?”

“About the band? Wildfire?”

He nodded. “Aerys Targaryen was my housemate at one point. He used to go by that stupid pseudonym _The Mad King_ , but I don’t think anyone truly knew just how mad he was. He was sick. Twisted. And I saw it all, because he brought it into our home.” He paused to take another sip of coffee, deep in thought.

Brienne watched him struggle for words.

“He started dealing. I wasn’t best pleased with it, but it wasn’t any of my business so I kind of left him to just do his thing for a while. Until I heard him talking to Rossart about it. _The Pyromancer_ ,” he sneered. “Pretentious fucks the both of them. But, the shit they were dealing… it wasn’t safe. His buyers were paying for one thing, and getting something else entirely.

“I was oblivious. At first, I thought he was just ripping people off. A shit thing to do, but I told myself I could look past it. Again, not my business. But then he started dishing them out to fans at gigs. Young women mostly. I realised his intentions were worse than I’d feared when he started bringing them home with him. I had no idea what he was doing to them. At the time I thought it was all consensual.

“He was in over his head with the drugs, though. People kept showing up at our door and I didn’t like that one bit. I didn’t feel safe in my own home. I told him, ‘pack it in, or pack up and leave’. So he told me he’d find somewhere else to live and get out of my hair. But he kept bringing the girls back in the meantime. And then he told me how he’d got the girls. As if _drugging_ them was something to be proud of. None of it was consensual, it turned out. Even if the girls had wanted the drugs recreationally, they got something other than what they asked for. They more or less passed out in his bed,” Jaime spat. “I’ll spare you the details, but I think you can infer what he did to them.”

He paused to look at her, and an expression of guilt washed over him. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be talking to you about shit like this after what happened earlier.”

“No. No, it’s fine.” No wonder Jaime had been so protective of her tonight. Brienne felt physically sick at the implication of his words, but she wanted to hear the rest. She wanted to know why he’d been judged so unfairly.

He looked at her hesitantly for a moment, before continuing. “I called the police. They told me they couldn’t do anything about it. He didn’t keep the drugs at our place, and I didn’t know any of the girls’ names, not that any of them would have likely dared to speak against him. So his name was clean, and I had to sit with the guilt of knowing how he’d hurt so many people and done fuck all about it. But then, one night, I caught Rossart with his hands all over a girl who almost definitely wasn’t of age and I snapped. I punched him. I made sure the girl got home safely, and then I tried the police again. They were useless, said there was still nothing they could do about it.

“But I was furious. I wasn’t going to sit back and let the police allow the creeps to continue to take advantage of anybody, male or female, of age or not. Not with the drugs, and certainly not with the abuse. I still hate a part of myself for allowing it to happen in my own home for so long, completely unaware of it. It still haunts me that I could have done something about it sooner had I known.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“That doesn’t make me regret it any less. It took me long enough to kick myself into action, but eventually I wrote that stupid article that ruined my life. My own magazine. I could publish whatever I wanted to. I exposed them both for what they were: evil, sadistic freaks. Drug tamperers. Rapists.

“I had no idea,” Brienne murmured.

“Nobody did. Even those who read my article chose to ignore it because they wrote one of their favourite songs.” He took another sip of his coffee. “Rossart was convicted first. He was less careful than Aerys. And less rich. Aerys, of course, got himself the finest lawyer in Westeros and started that gods-damned lawsuit against me, and sued me for publishing defamatory material. Libel. I got myself a lawyer, but I was fucked. It was up to us to prove the allegations were true, not for Aerys to prove they were false, and I had no physical evidence.

“So he just got away with it?”

“For a while,” he replied. “He got caught out eventually, of course, but it didn’t change anything regarding the case against me. I don’t get on so well with my father,” his lips twisted into something of a smile, as though finding amusement in an inside joke that Brienne was not privy to, “but he bailed me out. Paid my settlement fees. I’ve since paid him back, but he’s adamant that I’m still indebted to him. So now everyone just assumes I’m some disloyal, libellous, self-centred bloke who enjoys a good gossip and goes running to daddy when things go tits up. Aerys and Rossart were the criminals, but I somehow managed to walk away with a worse reputation and a shitty nickname to match. Fucking _kingslayer_.”

He laughed, but Brienne heard no humour in it. “So yeah… I’m sorry to say that I’m not as much of a dick as I’ve had you believe all week.”

“I don’t think you’re a dick at all, _kingslayer,_ ” Brienne said, trying to make light of it.

“Jaime,” he urged her. “Call me Jaime. And you’ll soon change your mind about me.”

Jaime had laughed, promising to do his best to continue to wind her up, and Brienne had politely laughed along, but when her head hit his pillow and she finally allowed herself to drift off to sleep, inhaling his scent, still a little tipsy, but _safe_ , Brienne knew she would not change her mind.

After he’d saved her - after he’d bared his private shame to her - how could she ever see anything but the goodness that resided in Jaime Lannister’s heart?


	5. Jaime III

The sound of his phone vibrating against the coffee table in his living room awoke him rudely, and he was momentarily surprised to find he’d somehow fallen asleep on the couch. It did not take long, however, for the events from the previous night to come flooding back to him, not least because his knuckles were bruised and somewhat tender from where he’d punched the lesser of two abominable men in the face.

Jaime’s night had been a disaster from start to finish, a brief interlude with Brienne Tarth by the toilets where they had listened to the live band together had been the only highlight. It had been bad enough simply to spend the evening in Cersei’s hateful company, his twin alternating between shoving Tywin’s usual spiel down Jaime’s throat and shoving her tongue down Robert bloody Baratheon’s throat, but then the night had become even worse when Jaime had had to confront his worst fears head on.

Ever since the Wildfire incident, he had been constantly unnerved and on edge, panicked that someone somewhere was being abused and he could do nothing to help, as though it was his responsibility to step in everywhere to make up for his previous inaction. He’d harboured the guilt ever since he’d found out what Aerys was doing to those poor young girls, and Jaime didn’t think he could ever forgive himself for his obliviousness to their need for help. Just on the other side of Jaime’s wall. If he’d have just walked out of his room, he might have heard something, might have been able to prevent their suffering. Instead, he created his own.

Then again, his fear of such abuse might have developed even prior to that. As far back as he could remember, Jaime had always been afraid of what other men were capable of, and that might be why he was always so protective over Cersei. Maybe it was just something he’d fixated on, as a result of his own emotional neglect.

But when he had caught that cunt Hyle Hunt grinding his hips against a very resistant Brienne Tarth, Jaime had felt a murderous ire surge through him like never before. He damn well could have killed him. He had wanted to. He barely knew Brienne himself, but he had felt fiercely protective of her. How dare that shitbag think he had the right to put his hands on her when she was so clearly unwilling.

Jaime was relieved to find he’d made it to her before any real physical damage was done, but he knew she had not taken it so well mentally. She already blamed herself for what happened, he knew, as if something like that could possibly be down to anybody but the filthy scumbag who felt he had the right to put his hands where they were not wanted. She’d cried so hard in his bathroom later on that it had seriously worried him. When he’d entered with a change of clothes for her, he’d seen the dress already crumpled on the floor as if she had torn it off in anger or shame, and he knew it would no doubt take her some time to recover. That she had wanted the dress immediately disposed of had come as no surprise to Jaime, and he had been more than happy to be the one to chuck it for her.

The night had taken its toll on Jaime mentally too, but in a rather different way. For reasons unknown to himself, he’d decided to spill something to Brienne that he’d never spoken aloud outside of therapy. When he’d written that bloody article, he’d wanted Aerys and Rossart exposed for what they were; instead, all he’d achieved was a seedy reputation for himself, which, of course, had stuck with him. He carried the weight of the resultant disdain on his shoulders daily, like a personal backpack of hell of his own design.

Even Cersei didn’t want to know.

He _had_ wanted to open up to Cersei, to tell her his secrets and his fears, but even she looked at him like he was the whistleblowing rumour-mongerer everyone saw in him, as if his only intention had been to make money out of Wildfire’s downfall.

Brienne, however, well… She’d looked at him as if _he_ were the victim, her blue eyes wide and trusting; as if he’d done the right thing despite failing to get either of them convicted.

Why he’d told her that story when she’d gone through such a shitty evening herself was completely beyond him. He hadn’t been in his right mind any more than she had, but that was no excuse to recite a story that hit so close to home. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d even told Brienne of all people, after so long in silence, but he was all but petrified with the uncertainty as to how it would affect their friendship going forwards. That’s if she even considered him a friend after he’d been such a prat to begin with…

 _I’ll make it up to her somehow_.

He reached for his phone, stretching his back as he did so after having been curled so uncomfortably on the couch in his sleep. Jaime was surprised it was already 11:20AM. He never slept in so late.

 **Cersei:** _Can we talk?_

 **Jaime:** _Later._

He felt odd answering her in such a fashion. He would normally be at her beck and call, waiting around like a neglected pet for her to briefly remember he existed and throw a scrap of attention his way. He never made _her_ wait.

 _Maybe it’ll do her good,_ he thought, _to remember that I don’t exist to attend to her every whim._

Besides, Jaime had something much more important to attend to this morning, and she was waiting for him in his bedroom.

Jaime thought back to the many mornings that he had woken up hungover after drinking himself into a sorry state, having acted foolishly as though he believed that alcohol poisoning was the perfect remedy to alleviate his self-contempt. It had always been whiskey through the night, coffee through the day, and not much else in between. He’d depended on that first cup of coffee to determine how he’d feel for the rest of the day, though, so he headed through to the kitchen to make one for Brienne.

He made himself one too, and then looped two of his fingers through both of the cups in order to carry them both in one hand, freeing his other to rap gently on his own bedroom door before letting himself in.

“Wakey wakey, rise and shine,” he crooned, finding her still fast asleep, his duvet pulled all the way up to her eyes. She jostled at the sound of his voice, and her eyelids fluttered open a few times before they adjusted to the light and her surroundings. She stilled, presumably confused about her whereabouts, but then her beautiful eyes met Jaime’s and widened in response. He gave her a moment to take it all in, to let the hurtful memories of the night before come back to her, and watched as she tried to shuffle herself up the bed into a seated position.

Jaime lowered himself until he was sitting on the side of the bed, half-on, half-off, twisting to face her as he passed her a coffee. “Ugh, my head,” Brienne groaned, accepting the coffee with one hand, and rubbing at her temples with her middle finger and thumb of the other. “Thanks,” she said.

“How are you feeling, princess?” Jaime smirked at her. “A little delicate?”

Brienne scowled at him. He’d known he’d get a reaction out of her with that, and he was craving a more light-hearted interaction with her than the one they’d last shared.

“Rough,” she admitted.

“You look it too,” he said. He felt her hand lightly smack his knee, and he smiled at a moment of rare playfulness from her. “It’s easily fixed, though. Could you hold this for me a moment, please?”

He passed her his own coffee and headed into his ensuite, returning with a packet of face wipes so she could remove the smudged black mess from around her eyes. “Here.” He threw them onto the bed beside her, reaching for his coffee again.

“I keep those around in case my sister ev–” He cut himself off.

He _really_ didn’t want to talk to Brienne about Cersei.

“It’ll help get rid of all that shit around your eyes,” he finally uttered, praying that Brienne would not acknowledge his awkwardness. There were rumours all the way across Westeros about the Lannister twins thanks to Tywin’s high profile – Jaime, of course, knew they were more than rumours – and he feared what Brienne’s reaction would be if she knew he was just as twisted as Aerys. Thankfully, she didn’t look at him with an ounce of disgust or suspicion.

“Is it awful?” Brienne’s hand flew to her face as if she might feel the stained black mess.

“It’s certainly a _unique_ look,” Jaime told her. He couldn’t help but smile at her again.

“Oh, gods,” she muttered, pulling out a wipe. She scrubbed at her eyes with such vigour that Jaime thought she might blind herself. It was strangely endearing to watch.

“Has it gone?” she asked him, hesitant.

Rather than answering her, though, Jaime found himself involuntarily reaching towards her, where a lone, loose, mascara-coated eyelash sat in the space between her nose and her tear duct. He pressed his thumb lightly against it to remove it, almost caressing her face as he did so.

“There,” Jaime said. “All gone.”

Brienne blushed at his contact, and Jaime had to look away from her, suddenly embarrassed by his own actions and overcome with a strange emotion he could not name. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“I hope the coffee’s ok. I always liked it strong after a heavy night, but I can add more milk if you’d prefer,” he said, trying to fill the weighted silence that had descended on them with meaningless drivel.

“No, I like it strong.” She brought her hand to her head again, clearly indeed still suffering the effects of too much alcohol. “How much did I have?”

“I dread to think.” Jaime laughed. “I was witness to at least three tequilas, but I couldn’t comment on the rest.”

“Oh, tequila…” Brienne squeezed her eyes shut in apparent regret. “Why the hells did I think that would be a good idea?”

“I couldn’t say,” Jaime said. He paused for a moment, hesitating. “Do you–”

“Do I remember any of it?” Brienne guessed what Jaime had been about to ask. He nodded. “Every second,” she said.

“Are you ok?” Jaime asked, rather pathetically. He knew that whatever answer she gave him would be to settle his own mind, and not a reflection of how she really felt about the events.

“I think so,” she said. “I _will_ be.”

She sighed.

“At the moment, I mostly feel… embarrassed, almost. I don’t know how to thank you; I don’t think I’d have ever recovered from it had something _worse_ happened.”

“Don’t,” he urged her. “Don’t think about that. There’s no point dwelling on what might have been. If you want to thank me properly, I take payment in the form of coffee.”

Brienne smiled at him, somewhat shyly. “Noted.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“You should eat something anyway,” he said. “I don’t have a lot in right now, I usually shop on a Sunday morning, but, for obvious reasons, I haven’t managed to yet this week. How do you feel about bacon?”

“You’re going to a lot of trouble, there’s really no need,” she argued. _Stubborn as ever_ , he thought.

“Bacon?” he asked more forcefully.

Brienne rolled her eyes at him, but nodded her head all the same. She made to move out of the bed.

“You don’t have to follow me. Stay comfortable,” he said, almost confused.

“I can’t just sit around in bed like Lady Muck while you wait on me hand and foot,” Brienne joked, throwing back the duvet and swinging her long legs over the side of the bed. Jaime’s thoughts immediately landed on Cersei. _She_ always expected him to do exactly that, and he didn’t realise how odd it was until Brienne phrased it so. Brienne was very much Cersei’s antithesis; the more time he spent with her, the more he recognised Cersei’s flaws.

“So, um… I wanted to apologise for last night,” Jaime started awkwardly when they reached the kitchen, hiding his facial expression in the fridge while he pretended to search for the bacon despite it being one of only four items in there. “I didn’t mean to get so deep. I feel awful that I brought up that shit with Aerys after what had happened.”

“Oh,” Brienne said. “You don’t have to apologise for that.”

“I do, though.” Jaime closed the fridge door, bacon in hand, and turned to her. “I don’t like lumbering other people with my shit, and it certainly wasn’t fair on you.”

“Don’t. It’s good to talk things through out loud sometimes. I’m glad you told me.”

“You are?” Jaime was puzzled, but Brienne seemed adamant. “You won’t say anything, though? I’d rather it be left in the past.”

“Of course not,” Brienne said. “Let’s just leave the whole night behind us.”

Jaime nodded at her, not needing to be asked twice. There was something about Brienne that just screamed honesty; she would not betray his trust. Her inherent _goodness_ had probably been what had prompted Jaime to feel comfortable enough to share his story with her, but he was afraid of what exactly that meant. The only other person privy to his darkest thoughts was his therapist, but it had taken a lot more probing and prodding for Jaime to open up to him.

He made their bacon sandwiches in silence, and Brienne seemed more than comfortable with that. He stifled a laugh whenever he glanced at her, because she was hunched over the table with her head resting on her arms, clearly feeling sorry for herself. When he placed the plate in front of her, she looked up at him guiltily.

“I’m not sure I can,” she said, her nose screwing up at the scent of food.

“I thought you didn’t get hangovers?” Jaime laughed at her, and she scowled. It was half-hearted at best, as though she couldn’t muster up the energy to be truly irritated by him. “Just a few bites,” he encouraged. “You’ll feel better for it.”

To both of their surprise, she managed to eat the whole thing and thanked him for it afterwards, her face much less pale than it had been beforehand. She stood, stacking his empty plate on top of her own.

“What are you doing? Sit back down.”

“The dishes,” she said, as if it were obvious.

“You’re a guest,” he said.

“Yes, but I’m not incapable. You’ve done far too much already, this is the least I can do.”

So Jaime sat in bewilderment once again as Brienne tidied up his kitchen, visualising the distance between Cersei and Brienne growing wider, more vast, with every passing second.

“Is there, uh, any chance I could take a shower?” Brienne seemed nervous, as if asking a much larger imposition of him. “I wouldn’t normally ask, and I promise to be out of your hair soon, but… I just feel a little… dirty.”

Jaime had been about to tease her at first, but her last words unsettled him. _Of course she’d feel unclean_. “Sure,” he said. “Just let me know when you’re ready to go home and we can set off.”

“Oh, there’s really no need,” Brienne assured him. “I can walk.”

Jaime smirked at her. “Still afraid?”

She scowled at him. “I’d just rather walk. There’s no need for you to waste any more of your time on me.”

“I told you I’d see you home safely,” Jaime started. “I intend to keep that promise. If you’re walking, I’m walking with you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I can walk on my own.”

“Brienne.”

“Fine,” she conceded. “I’ll get on your stupid bike again.”

He grinned at her. “There’s some girly stuff in the shower, you’re welcome to use it.” He didn’t feel the need to give her any explanation as to why it might be there this time.

“Oh, uh… Thanks.”

He gave her some more of his clothes and a towel and then waited for her on his bed. When she emerged from the ensuite, dressed in his black sweatpants and his _CasterlyROCK_ hoodie, Jaime smirked at her. “Now you _have_ to write something for my magazine,” he said. Brienne rolled her eyes at him, but thanked him for the clothes all the same.

“I’ll wash them and get them back to you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Didn’t you say you’d be there? At The Rock?”

“Shit, yeah. Is that tomorrow already?”

She nodded her head at him.

“Gods, you just can’t get enough of me.” Jaime smirked at her, reaching his arms back behind his head and relaxing further into his headboard.

“Piss off.” She half-glared, half-smiled. “I owe you a coffee, but I won’t cry if you don’t show.”

“I’ll take the coffee,” Jaime said, “but you can keep the clothes. Think of them as a souvenir.” He noted that she really did _not_ suit the colour red, but Jaime strangely enjoyed the idea of her pulling his hoodie over her head whenever she needed warming up.

“A souvenir?” Brienne looked at him perplexed, but didn’t argue with him. She possibly thought they were cast-offs and he was just desperate to be rid of them. She certainly didn’t know that Jaime would have to order another hoodie to wear during official _CasterlyROCK_ business. But that wasn’t a big deal. Really.

Brienne was much better suited to bike travel in the light of day, having sobered up and fought off the effects of her hangover. Jaime even managed to exceed the 40mph speed limit the whole way back to her apartment, and her arms felt less like a vengeful boa constrictor around his chest than they had last night.

Occasionally, he would catch her scent in the wind – or, rather, Cersei’s scent – and be momentarily perplexed, for Cersei would never be seen dead on the back of his bike. But then Brienne had begun to shout directions to her apartment behind him, reminding him that it was _her_ arms around him, and he’d fulfilled his promise soon enough by returning her home in one piece.

He removed the helmet from her head, and gave her his hand to help her off the bike much more smoothly than she had been capable last night. Tucking the helmet under his arm, he led her by the hand to her doorstep, where she said she’d have to wait until Margaery turned up with her keys. She let go of his hand as she lowered herself down, and he felt the absence immediately.

“I know you won’t,” he started, “but I hope you make your friends feel bad for being so blasé about your whole disappearing act last night.”

“They did try to call me,” she tried to argue in their defence, but even she sounded unconvinced.

“I don’t think a phone call would have sent that bastard running,” Jaime said, but immediately regretted bringing him up. He turned to look her in the eyes so she knew he was being serious. “Let them know that I was angry, at least. I don’t care if they think I’m a dick, and they need to know that somebody was pissed off by their disinterest.”

“You’re not a dick.”

Jaime heard her underlying meaning. He was pleased she hadn’t expressly mentioned the Wildfire case, but he appreciated the sentiment nonetheless. He began to reach for her without thinking, whether to squeeze her hand or pull her into a hug, he wasn’t sure, but he stopped mid-movement when he heard Margaery Tyrell’s arrival.

“Brienne!” Jaime and Brienne’s heads turned in unison as Margaery made her way up the steps to where they were sitting, Brienne’s bag under her arm. “Hello,” she greeted him with enthusiasm, a sweet smile on her face. “I’m Margaery!”

Jaime raised his eyebrows at her in acknowledgement. “Jaime Lannister,” he drawled almost rudely, but he didn’t feel the need for pleasantries when he was still so unimpressed by Brienne’s lacklustre friends. He turned to Brienne. “I’d best be off, then,” he said, suddenly wishing he could find a reason to keep her company for slightly longer.

“I guess so. Bye, Jaime.” She smiled at him politely, as though they were mere strangers parting; as though they hadn’t shared a traumatic evening followed by a domesticated breakfast. He saw something that looked like longing in her sapphire eyes, though, along with something else that was unfamiliar to Jaime. “Thanks again.”

Returning her smile, an idea suddenly came to him. His smile twisted into a smirk, and he looked at Brienne with a smouldering in his eyes and spoke in a deliberately flirtatious voice. “We should do this again some time,” he murmured, as seductively as he could muster, his green eyes locking hers in place for a moment. “Margaery,” he said, before nodding at her in farewell. He turned back to Brienne and winked at her, winning him the final blush he’d been waiting for, and headed back to his bike.

He heard Margaery turn to Brienne immediately, her shrieks of excitement bringing a satisfied smirk to Jaime’s lips. As he’d intended, Margaery had clearly jumped to the conclusion that Jaime and Brienne had spent a much more amorous night together than what had truly transpired, killing two birds with one stone.

Firstly, he managed to steer his relationship with Brienne back towards the antagonistic, playful teasing he was much more comfortable with, and away from the overwhelming seriousness of their most recent interactions.

Secondly, and much more importantly, it gave Brienne an alibi. If she didn’t wish to divulge the reality of the previous night to Margaery just yet, she could leave her to speculate something between herself and Jaime until she was prepared to share the details of her traumatic experience.

As Jaime rode home, he felt satisfied, almost accomplished. Brienne was home and safe and, mostly, untouched. Unusually, Jaime allowed himself to wallow in the credit he was due; he acknowledged the goodness in his own heart for the first time in a long time. He felt he was making progress, and he couldn’t help but feel that it was something within Brienne that was pushing him towards this more optimistic disposition.

She was honest, an open book laid bare to him; a book written in a dialect close enough to Jaime’s own that he grasped the general gist, her kindness and morality, but different enough that he found himself wanting to pursue a better grasp of her vocabulary, to better understand those characteristics that made her so fascinating.

Jaime was wary of his intrigue, unsure of their destination. He was, however, confident in his intentions. He wanted – _needed_ – to find out more about her. She had already had such an effect on him. He’d known her just a week, but he was glad they had already agreed to tomorrow night at The Rock; he found the certainty of seeing her again to be reassuring, and he knew that it would not be the last time he made plans with her. Not as far as he was concerned, anyway.

When he made it home, he pulled out his laptop to confirm arrangements for tomorrow night. He sent an email to Sam Tarly, Obsidian’s tour manager and PR officer, in order to secure his press pass for the gig. He was just about to begin exploring the band’s existing discography, having never heard of them prior to Brienne’s suggestion, when an incoming video call disrupted him.

Tywin.

“What the fuck do you want?” Jaime murmured to himself, before accepting the call. Of course, when he had connected to Tywin, he greeted him with a much less aggressive but by no means friendly, “Did you press ‘call’ on the wrong contact?”

Tywin’s eyes narrowed at him on the screen, and Jaime felt himself shift uncomfortably. Most of their conversations were on the phone, which meant that Jaime could normally imagine a less intimidating version of his father. Being able to see his stoic expression distressed Jaime somewhat. _Perhaps that’s why he wanted to see me. Maybe he wants to scare me into submission._

“Come on, son, you know I’m more technologically adept than to make such a _novice_ mistake.” His stern eyes pierced Jaime’s own, the streaming quality crystal clear thanks to what could only be Tywin’s own LION broadband. “Seven hundred and fifty thousand golden dragons.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My new offer.”

“I’ve told you,” Jaime snapped, “I’m not selling. Not to anybody, but least of all to you.”

“Have some respect for your father, boy,” Tywin retorted snidely.

 _Boy_ , Jaime thought amused. It was Tywin’s fault that Jaime had never been able to enjoy his boyhood.

“Have some respect for my decision, then, _father,_ ” he sneered. “Has the message still not sunk in? You’re wasting your time,” he spoke through gritted teeth.

“You can’t write about kids playing around with guitars forever.”

“Oh yeah?” Jaime stood his ground. “We’ll see.”

“It’s an offer you can’t refuse, Jaime.”

Jaime flinched at Tywin’s casual use of his name. It felt unusually intimate. Wrong. He’d rather the condescensions than this pathetic excuse to claw at their non-existent familiarity.

“Eight thousand golden dragons a month to begin with, and you’ll start working your way through the ranks immediately.” _Money, always money._ “Promotions come with a hefty pay rise, and I can fast-track your way to the top. A company car, fifty percent discount on all our products, our fastest LIONSPRINT broadband package: complimentary for you and a friend. Though, uh… I know you struggle on that front,” Tywin jeered. “You could really do with widening your social circle, boy, anybody would think there’s something wrong with you.”

_I wonder who’s responsible for that._

“Plenty of opportunities for that at LION, though.” Tywin sounded like a broken record, as though he was reading off a script that was supposed to impress Jaime somehow. “You’ll travel between all of our branches across Westeros for business trips, and you’ll have plenty of chance to head overseas for any new marketing ventures. Then, of course, you are my son.” _Now that’s almost hilarious._ “I wouldn’t be any kind of father if I didn’t guarantee you my position upon my retirement. You’ll be CEO one day, boy.”

Jaime rolled his eyes, now undeterred by Tywin’s intimidating presence.

“I have no interest in being _CEO_ , I have no interest in selling my publication to you, and you can shove your company car and discount as far up your arse as it will go for all I care. How many times will I have to say it before it penetrates your thick skull that I’m _just not interested_?”

“You must be insane, boy. Anyone else would bite my hand off at that offer!”

“Then offer it to someone with a bit more sanity,” he said. “Give it to Cersei. We both know she’d be a better match for LION than I ever would, and she talks about it often enough that I know she would not refuse you.”

“I don’t think so,” Tywin said, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “I’m not sure her fiancé would be too pleased about her swanning around on business trips and travelling the lengths of Westeros every month.”

“Her _what?_ ”

Jaime’s heart missed a beat, and then another and another. _Her fiancé_. His lungs were tight, and he suddenly felt as though he’d never breathe again.

“Fi-an-cé.” Tywin dragged out the word as if spelling it out to an imbecile. “Didn’t she tell you last night?”

“No.”

She was gone. Promised to another man. She had chosen to seal her future to someone other than Jaime, thus severing the ties that once bound them together as more than siblings. He felt like a balloon soaring towards the heavens, cut loose and free to rise, but pushed by winds he could not control towards a future he had never truly anticipated without her. How was he supposed to live in a world where Cersei was married to another man?

“Well, Robert Baratheon’s to be your new brother-in-law.”

“How truly _wonderful_ ,” Jaime managed to splutter out, his attempt at sarcasm unconvincing in his state of bewilderment to say the least. “Well, if that’s all, _father_ , I’m afraid I’ll have to politely decline your offer once again and bid you farewell. It seems I need to get in touch with my beloved sister.”

Jaime had no idea how he’d managed to end the call to Tywin so calmly, when all he wanted to was throw his already bruised hand against the wooden doorframe until his bones splintered to a point where his emotional agony was made redundant.

Why hadn’t she told him last night? Why hadn’t she thrown her stupid, no-doubt extravagant, expensive, engagement ring in his face and gloated the way she always did when she had something to wield against Jaime’s emotions?

And, more to the point, Jaime wondered why he was more concerned that she hadn’t told him she was engaged than he was about the engagement itself. _Why? Why do I almost feel relieved?_

He pulled out his phone and called her; she answered immediately, as if she’d been awaiting his call.

“Hello, brother,” she greeted him sweetly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he growled.

“You’ve heard, then? Jaime…” Her tone was cautious, wary.

“Spare me the bullshit, Cersei. Don’t pretend you suddenly care about my feelings now. Just spit it out: what was it you were so afraid to tell me?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you. To hurt us.”

The pair of them were silent for a while: Jaime in disbelief, Cersei in wait of his response. Eventually, Jaime laughed a humourless laugh. “That’s never stopped you before.”

“That’s not fair,” Cersei murmured. Jaime was convinced he heard a sniffling, as though she was crying.

“It’s true, and you know it. Everything this is, all it’s ever been has been the result of your decisions. It was never about me, and it was never about us. It was all you.”

“Jaime, please. I need you to understand,” she pleaded. “I never expected this to happen. Robert’s a good man and he’ll take care of me, but it doesn’t change anything. Can’t you be happy for me?”

“It changes everything, Cers. I’m done. _We’re_ done. Congratulations and all that.”

“But I need you, Jaime.”

“Who are you trying to kid?” Jaime scoffed.

“You need me,” she whispered, and Jaime took a deep breath. _Once maybe, but not now. Not like this._

“The only thing I _need_ is you out of my life,” he growled, and he hung up before she could say another word.

Going against everything that told him it was a bad idea, Jaime sought out the whiskey he’d resisted for ten months. As he felt the once-familiar burning sensation smooth down his throat, Jaime felt the inevitable surge of self-contempt hit him like a ton of bricks.


	6. Brienne III

A message from Jaime Lannister was the last thing Brienne Tarth would have expected to see upon waking up, and yet her eyes were not deceiving her. It was, to be precise, a message request, followed by a friend request; both had been sent at 3:53AM. She accepted the friend request embarrassingly fast, not that he’d ever know because he’d sent it at such an unsociable hour that three hours had already passed before she’d had the chance to see it. Still curious, she navigated her way to her inbox to see what he had to say for himself at such a time in the morning.

 **Jaime:** _Tarth_

Brienne narrowed her eyes at the blunt simplicity of the message; she hated to admit it, but she’d got her hopes up for one of his witty remarks. Instead, he’d written her surname. Was it a greeting? A statement of recognition when he’d come across her profile? She thought it hardly worth replying to, but she felt inclined to try nonetheless. Bizarrely, she was beginning to enjoy conversing with Jaime.

 **Brienne:** _Lannister._

 **_Brienne:_ ** _Strange time to be up. Late night or early start?_

Brienne knew she should leave the comfort of her bed and make a start on her day of work, but she couldn’t resist the novel opportunity to have a quick little flick through Jaime’s profile first. His profile photo was _gorgeous_. Unfairly so. Brienne found herself blushing like a schoolgirl at the way his abs were clearly outlined beneath the white t-shirt he wore in the picture. A side of Brienne had been irritated by him to begin with, then another side of her had become endlessly grateful to him, but, now, in the privacy of her own bedroom, the side of Brienne that unashamedly admired his beauty could come to the fore and ogle him for the spectacle that he was, without worrying it might feed his ego. Brienne would swear that no man more beautiful could possibly exist; he truly was a sight to behold.

She continued her online stalking but found nothing of note besides music videos he’d shared of bands he’d featured in his magazine, along with the odd link to a guest article he’d written for various online sources. The further back she scrolled on his profile, the more photos she found of him looking younger and less impassive. Brienne guessed he was as old in these photos as she was now, and she almost mourned for this Jaime of the past whose smiled appeared a little wider, and whose shoulders sat a little lower. Before he carried around the deadweight of his own shame. Brienne wondered just how much the Wildfire case had changed him for the worst.

She continued scrolling, fully giving in to her inner stalker and feeling no shame for it despite being nearly ten years deep in his profile. Her finger paused enviously when she came across a photo of Jaime with his arm around the shoulder of the rock legend himself: Sir Arthur Dayne, the first (and, so far, only) man to be knighted for services to music. He’d been one of Brienne’s own idols for as long as she could remember, and she was inconceivably jealous to find that Jaime had been lucky enough to meet such a treasure of a man before his untimely death. Jaime had simply captioned the photo “ _my hero_ ” followed by a sword emoji, a homage to Dayne’s most iconic song _Sword of the Morning_.

Absentmindedly, Brienne held her thumb down before dragging her thumb across to the _love_ reaction as she did so frequently with Margaery’s posts, before she realised, too late, that she’d just sent a bloody heart to Jaime Lannister who would no doubt wield it against her when he next decided to tease her.

And that wasn’t even the worst bit.

No. Not only would he get the notification that she’d “loved” something of his, but that _something_ just so happened to be a photo that he'd posted a whole decade ago. She couldn’t think of anything more mortifying than outing herself to such a beautiful, unattainable man as a _stalker_.

_Oh, gods, what have I done?_

Brienne’s phone suddenly vibrated and she immediately launched it across her bedroom in fear, her heart dropping into her stomach. She hadn’t expected him to confront her about it so soon. It was only when her phone continued to vibrate that she realised it couldn’t be Jaime Lannister at all. Her phone was ringing, and she hadn’t given Jaime her number when he’d given her his.

She pattered over to where her phone had landed rather unceremoniously on the carpeted floor and breathed a sigh of relief that it was only Catelyn Stark calling her.

“Hi, Cat,” she greeted her, still somewhat breathless.

“Morning, Brienne. I hope you’re well.” Cat’s voice was as friendly as ever. “I’m just calling because I have a bit of a proposition for you.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I was just wondering how you might feel about joining my team full-time. One of my resident writers is off on maternity leave at the end of the month, you see, and I can think of nobody more suited to the role than yourself.”

“Are you sure?” Brienne was stunned. _Surely there must be some kind of mistake. There’s plenty of people with actual qualifications who would be better suited to the role than I am._

“Quite sure.” Brienne could hear Catelyn’s warm smile in her assurance. “It’s a permanent position, of course. I won’t send you packing when my other writer returns to work. We can discuss wages and suchlike in due course if you decide you want to accept the offer, but I promise it’ll be worth your while financially and it’ll be an excellent opportunity for your writing to flourish. I’ll leave it with you to think about, anyway. I don’t need an answer right away.”

“Yes!” Brienne nearly shouted in disbelief, not having to think twice about such a desirable opportunity. “ _Absolutely_. Thank you for even considering me, of course I’d love to work for you permanently!”

“So you’re in?” Catelyn’s voice was hopeful.

“One hundred per cent.”

“Wonderful! Oh, I can’t wait for you to finally be a fixed member of our team, Brienne. I’ll be in touch within the next couple of days.”

“This is so kind of you, Catelyn, truly. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Take it as a compliment that I came to you directly, Brienne. There’s nobody I’d rather employ. Anyway, I must get back to work. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Ok, Cat. Take care.”

Brienne held her phone to her chest for a solid minute, squeezing her eyes shut as though opening them might awaken her from a dream.

She’d waited so long for an opportunity like this.

When she had left Tarth four years earlier, Brienne had intended to take a year for herself – a gap year of sorts – on the mainland before she headed off to university. She’d got herself a bartending job in a dive of a bar, but it was a stable income and the regulars tipped well, and she promised herself it would only be for a year. Except, as it turned out, it wasn’t just a year. Not long after, Brienne had given up on her aspirations of university; her academic aptitude had always been quietly impressive, but she held herself back on the basis of her self-proclaimed social ineptitude. She didn’t think she’d cope well in the heavily social environment of university, and, instead, somewhere along the line, Brienne had come to accept this monotonous existence.

Now, though, it seemed she’d have to settle for this subpar professional life no longer.

Brienne had never thought she’d pick up a pen again after leaving Evenfall behind her on Tarth. She’d been their bass guitarist and their songwriter. When she left, the band subsequently split, and Brienne subsequently lost her way with words. For a spell, at least. She’d intended to continue with her music, but she found that mainland Westeros didn’t bring her the same inspiration as her beautiful sapphire isle did. She slowly started to doubt her existing written material until she reached a point where she hated her work so much that she vowed she’d never write again.

She wasn’t sure exactly when she _had_ decided to write again, but she’d found a compromise with herself somewhere along the line. If she couldn’t write music itself, she could at least write _about_ music, living vicariously through other people’s musical ventures.

And, now, despite having no real credentials for the job, Brienne had somehow just made the step up to the highest rung of the journalism ladder, based solely on the merit of her own writing. She hadn’t had cause to be so proud of herself since Evenfall had played a small gig at Summerhall, the furthest inland they’d ever made it, when people from the mainland had sung her own lyrics back to her, despite seeing herself as a nothing girl in a nothing band on a nothing isle.

She’d worried for a time that she’d acted rashly leaving Tarth, that she’d let her father down. Now, though, she knew he’d be proud of her. Brienne was over the moon that all her daily drudgery had finally paid off, and she couldn’t wait to share her news with him.

She went about the rest of the day as normal, tying up loose ends on articles she’d written that were mostly finished and then proofreading them. She uploaded the reviews of Brandon’s Gift and The Sand Snakes onto her personal blog, and, then, for the first time in an age, she picked up her guitar.

She tentatively played a few chords, her fingers and thumb readjusting to the familiar sensation of the strings. She’d never used a pick to play. Her fingers were calloused and hardened from years of playing, but Brienne enjoyed nothing more than _feeling_ the music on her fingertips.

She played a few old riffs that she’d written but never made a full song out of to get her back into it, but she soon found herself freestyling, letting her fingers determine a new sound. She came up with a new riff almost effortlessly, her first in nearly a year, and she found herself singing a string of nonsensical words over the top of it, but she didn’t mind that it was far from a fully-fledged song. She didn’t even care if she never finished it. It was a start, and it was much more than she’d expected of herself after such a long hiatus.

The new melody she found herself playing was bittersweet, moving and rousing at once, melancholic but hopeful somehow.

A promise of sorts.

Just when she felt like she was getting somewhere with it, Brienne’s phone vibrated. Then it vibrated a second and third time in quick succession. She worried that someone was desperately trying to get in touch with her, so she reluctantly put her guitar down knowing that she would not wait nearly so long to pick it up again as last time.

 **Jaime:** _Neither_

 **Jaime:** _Both_

 **Jaime:** _Haven’t slept_

Brienne realised it was a response to her earlier question. She hesitated a moment before replying, not wanting to seem overly eager. She’d already embarrassed herself in front of him enough. Really, though, Brienne’s hesitation was less to do with wanting to hide her eagerness, and more to do with the worry she had that she might say the wrong thing and he would instantly lose interest in her. She hated how much she was beginning to enjoy their encounters, and she dreaded the time he would eventually tire of her. She was really starting to like him, even despite his feigned arrogance.

Stupid as it was, Brienne couldn’t wait to buy him that coffee.

She typed out a somewhat bold message, but then quickly deleted it; she was too craven to send it. She struggled with a response for a while, before giving in and retyping her original message. If he could flirt, why couldn’t she? It was only a bit of harmless fun, and he was the one who’d started it after all. She sent the message before she could convince herself not to.

 **Brienne:** _Too excited to see me later?_

He replied immediately.

 **Jaime:** _Sure._

 **Jaime:** _What did your friend have to say about us?_

 **Brienne:** _She thought it was very kind of you to look out for me._

 **Jaime:** _So she doesn’t think we’re together…?_

Brienne stared at the screen in confusion.

 **Brienne:** _??_

 **Brienne:** _Why would she think we’re together?_

 **Brienne:** _Wait, is this about your little stunt yesterday? When you left?_

 **Jaime:** _Obviously. I can’t believe you didn’t play along._

 **Brienne:** _Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a bizarre sense of humour?_

 **Jaime:** _How much did you end up telling her?_

 **Brienne:** _Everything. Up until getting to your place, anyway. Just so you know, she felt awful. They all did._

 **Jaime:** _Doesn’t change anything. She wasn’t there when you needed her._

 **Jaime:** _I was. You should have played along, Tarth._

 **Jaime:** _I wish you’d played along._

Brienne had no idea what he meant by that, and she wasn’t prepared to start questioning it either. Jaime Lannister had a complex mind, that much was clear to her, and she found herself getting drawn ever closer to him whenever they interacted. Whatever this _friendship_ was, if that’s what it was, it was moving too quickly for Brienne’s liking. She had no idea how to play it. They’d shared so much with one another in such a short space of time, and Brienne was overwhelmed by the speed with which he’d come to mean so much to her.

She trusted him with her life (which seemed ridiculous even to her after just over a week), and he seemingly trusted her too. Getting to know him was exciting and nerve-wracking, scary but enjoyable. She wanted to learn everything about him, draw endless taunts out of him, but she knew it would only end one way. Their friendship would fizzle out and her heart would no doubt be broken eventually. He would betray her trust, or he would grow tired of her company.

She was a novelty. A temporary enjoyment. A man like Jaime Lannister would only find entertainment in a woman like Brienne Tarth for a short while before he moved on to a more willing victim. They were two very different people, and she had never been someone that others expressly wanted to share their time with.

By the time she walked into The Rock to start her shift, it was 15:55 and she hadn’t replied to Jaime in nearly four hours. She decided it’d be awkward if she didn’t reply at all before she saw him again, so she grabbed her phone before she started working.

 **Brienne:** _Maybe next time._

Just like earlier, Jaime replied instantly.

 **Jaime:** _I thought you’d fallen out with me._

 **Brienne:** _Why would you think that?_

 **Jaime:** _You didn’t reply._

 **Brienne:** _I was busy. I’m sorry. I have to start work now anyway, I’ll see you in a bit._

Brienne was a bag of nerves. She dreaded the moment she’d see him again, and she dreaded what he’d have to say about her working behind the bar at tonight’s gig. She hadn’t revealed to him that the only reason she’d be here tonight was because she worked here. She’d only mentioned Obsidian to him when he’d asked to see her again because they were a fairly up and coming band and it seemed a likely possibility that Jaime would be attending for the sake of his magazine.

At the time, Brienne had thought it might be another meaningless encounter, that they might have had a fleeting conversation by the bar before they both got on with their own nights. Now, though, after everything with Hyle and after Jaime’s confession, it seemed more loaded. He was coming just to see her and they both knew it, though neither of them had said it aloud. She hadn’t expected him to go out of his way in order to attend the gig.

Brienne had somehow managed to forget that she was watching over a new member of staff tonight until she walked into him in the backroom. The Rock was only a small bar, so Brienne often manned the place on her own on weeknights. Tonight, though, she had to keep an eye on Podrick Payne, a boy newly-turned 18, who still had no idea how to pull a pint despite apparently having already worked Friday, Saturday and Sunday night.

He seemed friendly enough, somewhat shy but eager to please. Together, they filled the fridges with stock from the day’s delivery in no time, and Brienne got him to wipe down the glass tables whilst she carried keg after keg into the storeroom. Pod didn’t look man enough to be able to carry their weight. When the tables were spotless, she patiently pulled a series of pints in front of Pod, and, eventually, he got the hang of it himself.

Patrons started to filter in from 17:30 onwards, and Brienne hovered behind Pod helpfully whilst he tried to navigate the till. She was quietly impressed with him. Obviously, on her week off, nobody else had seen fit to teach the poor boy anything. All it had taken was a bit of Brienne’s patience and the boy had already begun to look more comfortable. He had a sweet smile, Brienne noted, a boyish grin resembling that of a young pupil who’d suddenly cracked an algebraic formula after weeks of going about it all wrong.

Brienne was mopping up behind the bar when Jaime walked in. She’d forgotten Pod was behind the bar with her, so she’d turned and walked right into him for the second time that evening. He’d dropped the pint of perfectly pulled beer onto the floor and turned a shade of red that put Brienne’s own blush to shame.

Brienne caught Jaime’s eyes immediately and he raised his eyebrows at her, a strange smile on his face as he visibly tried to bite back his words.

He walked up to the bar and sat on a stool in front of her.

“What are you doing?”

“This,” Brienne said, pointing to her mop, “is a mop. What do you think I’m doing with a mop?”

Jaime rolled his eyes at her. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say you’re mopping. Might I ask why?”

“It’s part of my job description.”

“But you don’t work here,” he stated with certainty.

“My uniform says otherwise.” She pointed to her blue polo with The Rock embroidered over her left breast. “Can I get you a drink?”

“You said you were here for the band.”

“I didn’t,” she argued, ready to reel off her _here’s-one-I-prepared-earlier_ argument. “You asked when you might see me again. I knew I was working tonight so there was a _possibility_ we might run into one another if you were here for the gig. You came to that conclusion all on your own, my friend.”

Jaime looked at her strangely. “Why didn’t you mention you worked here?”

“Does it matter?” Brienne laughed at his puzzled expression. She could tell by the drowsiness in his green eyes that he’d had no sleep, and he looked much younger in his confusion. “Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Orange juice? Water?”

Jaime looked at her with a sheepish expression, almost guilty.

“I’m thinking something stronger.”

He gave her a pointed look, and it didn’t take a genius to guess he was after something alcoholic. Perhaps that’s why he hadn’t slept. Brienne took in his appearance properly now. At first, she’d assumed he was just tired, but, now that she’d connected the dots, he looked _rough_. He looked exactly how she had felt yesterday morning. Except, somehow, he still managed to look offensively attractive.

“Oh?” She didn’t dare question him. It was not her place at all, but she still felt a little irresponsible serving him alcohol when he was supposed to be sober.

“Shit night, shit day,” he said, waving it off as no big deal. “I’ll have a double vodka and lemonade, please.”

Brienne hesitated, unsure whether it was appropriate to say something.

“Just pour it, Brienne.”

So she did.

He pulled his card out of his wallet, but she pushed his hand away. “Call it a coffee,” she said. “It’s on me.”

They looked at each other for a long moment before Jaime sighed. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re disappointed in me.”

“I’m– I’m not disappointed in you. It’s none of my business,” she flustered, blushing.

His eyes softened slightly, and he thanked her for the drink. Brienne was grateful when one of her regulars caught her eye and called her over. She made sure not to look in Jaime’s direction for a while, keeping herself busy with odd jobs and helping Pod out whenever he needed it.

Eventually, the support band took to the stage, and Jaime was still sitting at the bar, oblivious to the band, watching Brienne with an absent expression on his face. She decided she couldn’t ignore him any longer.

“Is everything ok?” she asked him. She didn’t need him to divulge any more of his secrets to her, but she wanted him to know he could talk to her if he needed someone.

He shifted in his seat, leaning forward to rest both of his arms on the bar, propping his head up with one hand. Brienne was unnerved by their sudden proximity, but she stood her ground.

He smirked at her. “Is Brienne Tarth worried about me?”

She thought of a few sarcastic retorts, but she decided it wasn’t the time for sarcasm. “Yes,” she admitted. “I thought you’d given it up.”

The smirk dropped from his face and he eyeballed the drink in front of him that Pod had only just poured for him. Another double. When he replied, he spoke to the drink as opposed to Brienne. “I broke,” he said, his voice laced in obvious regret. “I’m giving myself today off and then I’m calling it quits again. Family shit,” he added, by way of explanation.

“Can you do that?” Brienne asked. “Won’t you fall back into old habits?”

“Who said anything about old habits? I wasn’t dependent on it, if that’s what you’re thinking. I guess you could call me an alcoholic, but I was never addicted. I abused it, but I was always in control. I could have stopped whenever I wanted. My addiction was to something much harder to run away from, something with a greater capacity to hurt me. Hence, I’m drinking again.”

His eyes met hers. “You’re looking at me like I’m a disappointment again.”

“No, it’s– I just– It’s– It’s more that I’m disappointed in– I just– I don’t really know how to help you,” Brienne fumbled. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Jaime shook his head at her. “You’d run a mile if I told you.”

She’d never been one to pry, so she decided to leave him to his silent woe. Before she could stop herself, she put her hand on his own as an attempt to comfort him. “Just be careful,” she said, before moving to serve another customer.

Jaime eventually left his barstool to greet the man that Brienne recognised as his photographer, and they were led backstage to perform their press duties. Obsidian had a very morbid sound that did nothing to improve Brienne’s spirits, so she busied herself behind the bar, refilling the till with change and sorting out the notes into neater piles. She taught Pod the differences between all of their cask ales, and the taste of each of their wines. She worried about Jaime more now that he was out of her sight.

She picked up her phone to check the time at one point, and she briefly scrolled back through her messages with Jaime. She should have guessed that there was something up when he’d messaged her at such an absurd time in the morning, and when he’d been so unusually forward.

 _I wish you’d played along_ , he’d said. She pondered what he’d meant by that for the duration of Obsidian’s set.

After the gig, people slowly filtered out of the bar as they always did. Nobody who attended shows at The Rock finished their night there; they almost always headed to more glamorous locations with a better selection of spirits in search of a better night out. Eventually, Jaime emerged from behind the stage and he led his photographer over to Brienne.

“Addam, my good friend Brienne.” _Good friend?_ Brienne had doubted he even liked her up until a couple of nights ago, and now she’d already been promoted to a _good_ friend? “Brienne, my photographer Addam Marbrand.”

Addam reached to shake her hand politely. “Brienne Tarth, right? I remember you from last week.”

“Right.” She smiled at him. He seemed friendly enough. “Renly was thrilled with the shots you took at their show. You’re very talented,” she added almost shyly.

“Kind of you to say so. Thank you,” Addam replied. He turned to Jaime. “So how do you two know each other?”

“Oh, from round and about,” Jaime replied. He shot Brienne a secret smile, and Brienne blushed. “She just can’t seem to leave me alone.”

“You’re the one who went to all the trouble of showing up tonight to see me, I just happen to work here,” Brienne retorted.

She didn’t dare look at Addam’s face. She knew she’d see either pity or amusement there, because anybody from the outside looking in could see quite plainly that Jaime Lannister should have no business making plans to see a woman with her own unfortunate looks.

But Jaime _had_ come just to see her. She was certain of it.

“I told you, I like your eyes,” Jaime replied, as if that explained everything. “We can stay for another drink, right?”

Brienne blushed, but nodded. “We’ve a couple of hours until close yet.”

“Actually, mate, I’ve got to be off,” Addam told Jaime. “Another time, maybe?”

“No worries, pal,” Jaime said, slapping Addam on the back. He turned to Brienne. “You don’t mind if I stay for one more?”

“Not at all,” Brienne said, a little too quickly.

“I’ll see you guys around then,” said Addam.

Before Brienne could turn back to Jaime, Pod appeared in front of her. “Um, I’ve finished putting the glasses away. What else can I do?”

Brienne smiled at the boy. He was very helpful and had been a pleasure to work alongside. “You can get yourself home if you want, Pod. I can manage alone from here. Thanks for tonight.”

Pod gave her another boyish grin. “Thanks for being so patient, I owe you one. I know I’m a slow learner but I think I’m getting there.”

“Any time.”

“There’s no way he’s old enough to be serving,” Jaime said when they heard the door close behind Pod.

“He’s sweet,” Brienne replied. “He worked hard tonight.”

“He’s a child.”

“He’s 18, Jaime. Leave the poor lad alone.”

“You’re no fun tonight.” Jaime pulled a face at her. “What are we drinking?”

Brienne gave him a stern look. “I’m not drinking anything. I’m working.”

“So you won’t join me for a glass of wine?”

“Wine?” She looked at him as if he’d just grown a third eye.

“Don’t you like wine?”

“Yes, but I didn’t expect you would. I thought you were into spirits.”

“I’m into _alcohol_ , in any form. Join me.” Jaime looked at her with a convincing intensity. She almost gave in.

“I have to do the floors.”

“Can’t you mop and drink?”

“No. Besides, I’m driving.”

Jaime rolled his eyes at her. “Fine, then I’ll have another double vodka.”

“A double?”

Jaime nodded. Brienne didn’t think that was even remotely a wise idea, but who was she to deny him what he wanted? He was a paying customer after all.

“Fine. As long as I can drive you home.”

Jaime smirked at her. “I’m not so sure I’m comfortable getting into a car with somebody who’s so frightened of the roads.”

“Oh, give over!” Brienne finally laughed at him. “It was your stupid bike I didn’t like, not the roads.”

“Hm, I’m not convinced.” He grinned at her, and Brienne could do nothing but smile back at him stupidly. “Make it a bottle of your finest Dornish red.”

“A whole bottle? Really, Jaime, I’m not one to judge,” she started hesitantly, “but don’t you think that’s pushing it a bit?”

“You’ll just have to share it with me then, won’t you?” He grabbed her hand. “Come on, Brienne. Leave your car here and have a drink with me. Your place is what? Two blocks from here? We can walk it.”

“I’m still working,” she argued, but she left her hand in his. “And what’s this ‘we’ business?”

He gave her a charming smile, his emerald eyes softened as a result of his intoxication. “I took care of you after you’d had too much to drink, would it be too much to ask of you to do the same for me?”

“You want to stay at my place?” Brienne was wary.

Jaime said nothing, just continued to smile at her.

“I don’t mind driving you back to yours.”

“I want to stay at yours,” he stated, squeezing her hand. “And I want you to join me for a drink.”

Brienne sighed in defeat. “Fine, I’ll have one glass. But I still have to do the floors.”

It was worth it just to see Jaime’s delighted, drunken smile of victory.

It turned out that drinking wine made mopping a lot more fun, or maybe it was just having company that made it more enjoyable. Brienne was particularly pleased it was Jaime’s company over anyone else’s.

“So how long have you worked here?”

“Four years.” Brienne didn’t meet his eyes. She was embarrassed she’d wasted so much of her life in such a dismal job.

Jaime’s eyes widened. “Gods. Why?” He looked around the place, wordlessly insinuating his disapproval.

“I needed to move on from Tarth,” Brienne explained. “It was supposed to be a gap year.”

“Four years is a bloody long gap year.”

“Shit happens,” Brienne said. “I gave up on studying, but I couldn’t go back to Tarth because…” Brienne trailed off, not wanting to bore him with the ghosts of her past. Brienne had watched a young boy’s lifeless body be dragged from the sea, and the trauma she’d buried after her brother Galladon had died so young had been unearthed, even more devastating than it had been in the first place. Staying on Tarth had become an impossibility after that. She saw death whenever she saw the sea.

“Family shit?” Jaime guessed.

“Something like that.”

“Well, I’ll drink to that,” Jaime said, clinking his glass against hers – which was half-full on the table, unattended while she mopped – before knocking the rest of the wine down his throat. He poured himself another glass from the bottle, and topped Brienne’s up too.

“My sister got engaged.”

Brienne stopped mopping, her blood suddenly running cold.

 _So that’s why he’s all over the place_.

She didn’t know how to respond, so she settled for an inadequate, ineloquent, “Oh.”

“To Cersei and Robert!” Jaime raised his glass mockingly, before taking another long sip.

Brienne had no idea how to broach the topic of Jaime and his twin sister. The rumours were concerning to say the least, but she didn’t want to overstep a line. Especially when he was so fragile in his drunken state. She suddenly felt well out of her depths.

“Is that– Are you– How are you feeling?”

Jaime looked at her strangely. “You daren’t ask, do you?”

Brienne pushed the mop bucket to one side and returned to the seat opposite him, sensing he was about to open up to her. “I’m not a prier.”

“But you’ve heard the rumours, I take it?”

Most of Westeros had heard the rumours about the infamous Tywin Lannister's absurdly-close twins, although rumours had been dwindling in frequency in recent years.

Brienne nodded.

Jaime inhaled a shaky breath and ran his hand through his chin-length hair, something that Brienne had noticed he did whenever he was nervous. “I, uh– I don’t know how to explain it in a way that’s not entirely fucked up,” he started, an expression of disgust on his own face. “I know it’s… wrong, unnatural. It disgusts even me, but… it’s my life. I’ve never lived any alternative.”

“You love her?” Brienne tried her best to keep her face neutral, desperate not to offend him. “Romantically?”

Jaime shook his head.  
  
“It’s more than that,” he muttered. “I honestly don’t think I love her anymore, it's something else entirely. I'm not sure I even like her. It’s more like I _need_ her. Or, rather, I thought I did.”

He sighed.

“Long story short: we had a shit childhood, and she made it out like we were the only ones who understood each other, to the point where I never really _tried_ to live without her. I don’t know. She always told me we’d have each other even if we had nobody else. It’s fucked, I know, but it’s always been like this as far back as I can remember; whenever I think I’ve grown the bollocks to cast her aside, something happens and it's like I'm dependent on her affection all over again. I’ve tried and tried to do my own thing, but I just can't shake her. It shouldn't be like this, I know.”

He laughed without humour, putting his head in his hands. “Fuck me, I’m pathetic," he spat. "I’m sorry I keep dumping all this shitty information about myself on you. You must think I’m a total disaster.”

“Stop it,” Brienne said, hesitantly placing her hand on his arm.

When she picked up the courage to speak again, she did so slowly to give herself ample time to select the most sensitive words. She didn't want to push him further into his state of upset.

“I can’t say I fully understand it,” she told him honestly. Internally, she was panicking. “I don’t really know what the right thing is to say, Jaime. But I still think you're a good man. I get that you’re ashamed of it and I understand why, but, like you said, you’ve never known any different. It sounds to me as though you’ve been manipulated... wildly mis-sold this absurd idea of dependence to the point where she could tell you anything and you'd believe her. She might have convinced you that you can’t live without her, but you _can,_ ” she assured him, as though she had even the slightest idea what she was talking about. “I don't understand it, I won't lie, but I can understand why it's hurt you so much.”

She stroked his arm lightly as if to make sure she still had his attention. “Just so you know, I don’t think any less of you.”

Jaime lifted his head to look at her.

“You don’t–” he started in disbelief, but cut himself off with a sigh. “Where did you _come_ from, Brienne?”

“Um, Tarth? I thought you knew that?”

“I didn’t mean it literally.” He rolled his eyes at her. “You’re just… unique. How are you not repulsed by me?”

“I guess I know what it’s like to be judged unfairly,” Brienne said, slowly stroking his arm to comfort him. “I don’t think you’re a bad person. Like I said before: shit happens. If it’s all you’ve ever known, how can you blame yourself? Your relationship to her doesn’t define you any more than that Wildfire bullshit does.”

Jaime removed her hand from his arm. She felt a momentary sorrow, but, instead, he raised her hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on the back of her fingertips. Brienne had to hold her breath to stop herself from gasping in surprise.

“You have no idea how much it means to hear you say that, Brienne,” he murmured, clutching at her hand. “I’m trying my damnedest not to scare you off.”

“I don’t scare so easily,” Brienne told him, although inside her heart was racing faster than ever _._

 _Scared? Try terrified_.

She wasn’t sure what his intentions were exactly, but she found herself suddenly unable to detach his life from her own. There was no way she could even conceive of walking away from him after he’d entrusted her with so much of his vulnerabilities, which is why she knew it would hurt her so much when he eventually walked away from her.

“Whatever I can do to help you, I’ll do it. Please don’t feel like you have to suffer alone. People have told me I’m a good listener,” she offered weakly.

Jaime still had her hand in his own and he squeezed it.

Brienne briefly zoned out whilst staring at their joined hands. When she looked back to his face, she was hurt to see tears in his eyes. Whether it was the alcohol, whether it was Cersei, or whether it was his disbelief that Brienne still hadn’t run away, she could not say. Perhaps it was all three.

All Brienne knew was that he looked like a man in need of a hug, so she pushed her fears aside, walked over to him, and pulled his head into her chest.

“Shh,” she said in a feeble attempt to soothe him as he wrapped his arms around her waist, sobbing into her shirt. “It’ll all be ok. I promise that you’ll be ok, Jaime.”

She didn’t know _how_ things could ever be ok for him after what he’d told her of his inner sufferings, but she vowed to herself then and there, with him trembling in her arms, that she’d do whatever she could to ensure he made it through in one piece. He was not the arrogant piece of shit she’d thought she’d met, but a broken boy in a man’s body in a world who’d cruelly convinced him to despise himself.

Brienne held him so tightly that she felt she might be the only thing keeping him together, and she prayed with all her might that this would be the last time she’d ever have to see him cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise that the ending's so bleak, I hate that I had to make him sad.


	7. Jaime IV

Jaime Lannister had always had a tendency to keep his emotions locked away inside where only he could touch upon them. Sure, his emotions came to the fore whenever he acted out on behalf of others who couldn’t protect themselves so well, but he prided himself on his ability to intimate great strength outwardly whenever, internally, he felt his world was falling apart. He preferred to suffer alone, because that was the way it had always been. That was the way he liked it. Time and time again, Jaime had walked out of his therapist’s office having gained absolutely nothing due to his reluctance to talk to anybody else with his tiresome issues, despite his therapist being the very person to whom he paid quite a hefty sum of money to specifically discuss such things with.

But, despite his usual resilience, Jaime had somehow just thoroughly and completely fallen apart in front of Brienne Tarth. _Wonderful_ Brienne Tarth. A woman sent to him by the gods, he was certain. Anybody else on the receiving end of such information would have given him a wide berth.

 _And rightly so_.

Instead of running as far as possible, however, Brienne had heard the worst side of Jaime, the side that had always been _Cersei’s,_ and she had held him closely as he sobbed. Perhaps she felt she owed him one or something after the incident with Hyle.

Jaime knew he would feel embarrassment to a whole new degree when he sobered up; at the moment, though, all he felt was astonishment. He felt _worth_ something. Valued. Brienne was more compassionate than Jaime could have conceived. Though he’d done naught much more than rile her up for little over a week, she was pulling him towards her apartment to keep an eye on him in his intoxication, offering him refuge in more ways than one.

He felt a surge of appreciation for her alongside something else entirely. Something he had never previously encountered.

The certainty of her hand pulling him along was the only thing grounding Jaime to the present, her usual awkwardness replaced by a determination to take this alcoholic mess of a man, who’d rudely barged his way into her life, under her protection until he sobered up. And, in the darkness of the headspace that he alone had conjured up, a lethal combination of bleak thoughts and mixed drinks, Jaime thought that she might just have saved his life from taking a more sinister path.

He hardly acknowledged her apartment, stumbling along behind her as she led him into what he assumed to be her bedroom. She gently pushed him onto the bed, before reaching to untie his laces and remove his trainers for him. Jaime knew he was undeserving of such kindness.

Had he been sober, he might have made a joke about how he’d been waiting for the moment she might finally undress him. Instead, he only looked down at her in drunken reverence, desperately trying to convey with his eyes the gratitude he could not express verbally.

When she left the room, Jaime almost instantly felt the dark fog begin to cloud his mind again, her light no longer providing that comforting presence he’d spent his whole life waiting for.

She returned mere minutes later in her pyjamas with a glass of water in hand.

“Are you feeling any better?” she asked with a tenderness that made Jaime want to weep. _Fucking alcohol_ , Jaime thought, embarrassed by his heightened emotions.

He nodded, his eyes closed again to stop the room from spinning. He reached out to her blindly, hoping she’d understand what he was searching for. He relaxed again when he felt the warmth of her hand envelop his own.

“There’s, uh, some paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet if you wake up with a headache,” she told him. Jaime didn’t tell her that she was all the painkiller he needed. “If you need me for anything, I’ll be just through the door in the lounge.”

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” he asked her.

“Yeah, on the couch.”

Jaime opened his eyes. He wouldn’t have that.

“Don’t be silly, it’s _your_ bed.” He patted the empty space next to him rather heavy-handedly. “There’s room enough for the two of us.”

Brienne shook her head. “It’s fine, Jaime. I don’t mind the couch, honestly.”

“Oh, for gods’ sake, Tarth. For once in your life, don’t be so stubborn. Just get in beside me. Please.” Jaime hoped the desperation in his voice wasn’t as blaringly obvious to Brienne as it was to him. He didn’t want to be alone with his drunken thoughts.

Brienne considered him, unsure for a moment. She must have seen the plea in his eyes because she hesitated only briefly before sighing.

“Fine.” She walked around to the other side of the bed.

When he felt her slide beneath the duvet next to him, Jaime rolled over to face her. He hadn’t anticipated her proximity, and Brienne let out a soft, nigh inaudible, gasp when she realised how close his face was to her own. She was close enough that Jaime could smell the mint on her recently-brushed teeth. Her beguiling eyes captivated him so much that he barely even considered the scent of his own breath, which would almost certainly reek like a brewery.

“Thank you,” he murmured, “for being so absurdly tolerant of everything that’s wrong with me. You’re the best.” His slurred words betrayed how much he had had to drink.

In a bid to express his gratitude, he leaned in to gently press his lips against the delicate frown lines etched into her forehead. Jaime noticed her tense up, but she didn’t retreat even when he lingered a moment longer than he perhaps should have. He pulled back just far enough to find the familiar calm in her enchanting sapphire eyes, and watched as her gaze flitted between his lips and his eyes; whether in confusion, disbelief, or uncertainty, Jaime could not say. He also couldn’t be certain as to which one of them moved first – perhaps they had both moved at once – but he was certain that her lips were suddenly on his, and he was certain that she seemed to want it as much as he had.

His intoxication left him badly coordinated, and Brienne’s evident inexperience meant that they clumsily clashed teeth twice before they settled into a steadier rhythm that suited them both. Brienne’s lips were careful and hesitant. _Innocent_. Jaime kissed her slowly and meaningfully, asking for nothing more from her than she was prepared to give. He was already more than grateful for her company, and the kindness he certainly did not deserve. A kiss hardly seemed a worthy _thank you_ , but it was all that Jaime had to offer in his useless, inebriated state.

He reached out to cup her cheek in his right hand, but she flinched away from the unexpected contact, effectively putting an end to their kiss. Jaime looked at her in unconcealed wonder, his green eyes wide like a shelter puppy who’d finally found a happy home. Brienne looked back at him in abashment, her cheeks adorned in that familiar rosy glow he found so endearing. He gently brought his hand back to her face once more, as if to feel the warmth of her blush.

“I, uh– We– You– You should try to sleep it off… The alcohol, I mean.” Brienne’s expression was guarded.

Jaime ran his thumb across her cheek once before removing his hand, nodding his head at her. It was probably for the best that he didn’t push his luck. He’d already asked so much from her.

She turned away from him to turn off her bedside lamp, plunging them into total darkness. One of the last things Jaime felt before sleep took him was the mattress dipping as Brienne shifted her weight in search of a comfortable position. He had no idea what it was about Brienne that made him think something so mundane could be so endearing, but he knew then and there that he was a goner. He was drawn to her, totally and inexplicably. He was hypoxic, and Brienne was the very first breath of fresh air he had been so desperate for. He slept soundly beside her, completely dreamless for perhaps the first time in his life.

When he awoke, Jaime’s head was pounding and his limbs were _heavy_. His body was on fire. The alcoholic buzz had been a briefly cathartic reminder of the relief he used to feel when he let go of his inhibitions, but the instantly painful effects of his hangover reminded him why he’d seen fit to kick it into touch. Alcohol had never been the answer.

His eyes opened gradually, flickering as they tried to get accustomed to the piercing light that made his head feel so funny. He realised with an embarrassing slowness that he was wrapped around a woman. A woman who was certainly not Cersei. His head was a dead weight against her flat chest, and he had at some point in the night thrown his arm over her thick waist.

Brienne Tarth.

The events of the previous night returned to him in a series of flashbacks. His sobbing. Her comforting embrace. His embarrassment. Her resolute acceptance. His fear. Her wholesome sanctuary.

 _Their_ kiss.

Jaime removed his arm from around her, lifting himself off her at the same time as he brought his hand to his throbbing head. If he’d hoped she was still asleep and hadn’t noticed his hold on her, the gods had not been so kind. He found himself gazing into her mesmerising eyes. Definitely awake.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, uncharacteristically nervous. “You could have pushed me away, you know.”

Brienne blushed and sat herself up. “You looked peaceful.”

“I _was_ peaceful. I haven’t slept like that in years,” he told her. When no reply came, he worried slightly. Had he done irreparable damage to their already tenuous friendship? With all the feigned arrogance he could muster, he turned to her in jest in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Aren’t you going to make me a coffee?”

He hoped the familiar, irritating goading might ease her sudden shyness. _The kiss_ , he thought. _It was way too soon._

Brienne rolled her eyes at him, but she immediately climbed out of bed. Jaime threw the duvet off himself, intending to follow her, but she held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t bother,” she said. “You don’t look in any fit state to move anywhere. I’ll bring it through to you.”

Jaime would have argued normally, but he was feeling particularly delicate. He knew she was right; he thought that even putting one foot in front of the other would increase the pounding pain in his head exponentially. He felt very tender, enough to feel sorry for himself, but he mostly felt pissed off.

It was his own doing, of course.

Of all the times he could have chosen to kiss her, he knew that doing so when drunk, having spent the night crying to her about the sister he’d had sexual relations with for as long as he could remember, had certainly _not_ been the right time. That’s if there even was a right time. She’d done well to hide her disgust from him so far, but he was certain the kiss would have repulsed her. Who’d want to kiss someone as fucked up as him?

When she returned with two cups, Jaime just about managed to push himself into seated position and gratefully took one from her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She didn’t look at him as she climbed back onto her bed. She did not rejoin him under the duvet, but Jaime felt more than just the duvet between them. They sat in silence for a while, the only sound was Brienne’s breath whistling occasionally as she blew on her coffee in a half-hearted attempt to cool it down.

Jaime placed his coffee on the beside table. “Listen.” He turned to her. “About last night…”

“I get it.” She didn’t look away from her coffee, as if she saw something more fascinating than the brown liquid in her cup. “You’d had a lot to drink.”

“I’m sorry if it was too much too soon. I know I overstepped the line,” he said. “I meant to do it on a much less inappropriate occasion.”

“You what?” Her eyes finally, hesitantly, met his.

“You heard me,” he said. He watched as her brilliant eyes narrowed in confusion, and he reached out to take her free hand. “I hardly think I’ve been subtle.”

“What?”

“Is that all you can say?” Jaime laughed at her. “I’ve wanted to kiss you ever since you first told me to piss off.”

Brienne’s disbelief was written all over her face. She scowled at him. “Don’t mock me, Jaime.”

“I’m being deadly serious.”

“But… Why?”

Jaime looked at her pointedly, as if she had asked the question with the most obvious answer in the world. He could have listed a hundred and more reasons to her, but he knew she would only think he was trying to ridicule her. He needed to earn her trust.

“Well, you haven’t run away yet,” he joked.

An inadequate answer for an unnecessary question.

“Yet,” Brienne repeated more seriously. “What about your sister?”

“She’s _just_ my sister. She has been for some time, really. Her engagement merely made it official.” Jaime had no idea how he’d cope going forward, but he knew there was no longer a place for Cersei in his future. He had to cut all ties for the good of his sanity. “It’s for the best. Last night was an emotional lapse fuelled by alcohol,” he explained. “I know a part of me will always be hers, but– You told me yourself that my existence is more than what I shared with her. I need to live my own life.”

Brienne squeezed his fingers. “You’ll get there. There’ll be a time when you’re happier without her.”

“I already feel… _lighter_ , somehow.”

“Good. And you can stop looking at me like that, too,” she said. She waited until he looked into her eyes before continuing, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You should,” he muttered. Jaime knew she was trying to keep the interaction light-hearted, but he knew she didn’t fully understand how wrong it was. It was almost as if she’d brushed it off, as though he’d said something more normal. _My sister and I used to fight over the remote control_ , or _my sister and I used to play chess after school._ “It’s fucked up.”

Brienne looked at him with something like anger in her eyes, more authentic than the usual scowls she gave him. “Is that what you want me to say? You want to hear me tell you it’s fucked up?”

“Well, that’s exactly what it is.”

“Fine, Jaime. It’s fucked up,” she finally admitted, her voice raised. “It’s _entirely_ fucked up. And I have no idea how to handle it, or what to say to you to make you feel better about it, or why you decided to come clean to me about it in the first place. Honestly? It makes my skin crawl. I don’t understand it, and I told you as much last night.”

Jaime nodded, letting her words wash over him. Finally. It wouldn’t be long now before she kicked him out and avoided him for the rest of his sorry life. “I suppose you won’t want to see me again, then?”

“Huh?”

“Because I make your skin crawl.” Jaime was happy she’d said it aloud. He could embrace her disgust more than he could her kindnesses; he deserved one much more than the other.

“Jaime, the situation is gross. The _incest_ makes my skin crawl. It doesn’t change the fact that I like _you_ as a person, though. You rescued me when none of my friends cared. You’re a good man, despite what you might think.”

“Would a good man fuck his sister?” Jaime had heard enough of her overbearing niceties now. “Tell me, Brienne, you’re a _good_ woman: if you had a brother, would you have spent your youth fucking him?”

“My brother died when he was eight,” Brienne snapped, recoiling as if he’d slapped her.

Jaime froze. “Shit. Brienne…”

_Well, now you’ve fucking blown it, you piece of shit._

“I’m so sorry,” he urged her to believe him. “I had no idea," he insisted. "Not that that makes it right... Look, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that in the first place.”

Brienne looked haunted. “You’re a dick,” she muttered.

“I know,” he agreed. This was better. He could accept her anger.

They sat in silence for a while.

“Your coffee’s going cold,” Brienne finally spoke.

Jaime wordlessly picked up his cup and briefly brought it to his lips. Finally, he said, “I’m sorry, Brienne. I’ve done nothing but be a prick to you.”

“Jaime…” She shook her head at him, words failing her.

“I promise, once I walk out of your door, you won’t ever have to deal with me and my baggage again.”

Brienne looked as though she wanted to smack him in the face. “You can’t just dump all that information on me and then walk out of my life as if nothing ever happened, you know. It wouldn’t change _anything_. I know now, and, whether you believe me or not, I still value you. You might as well stick around.”

She paused, and Jaime could have sworn he saw a small smile appear at the corners of her mouth. “The gods know I could do with a friend like you. At least you cared when I disappeared with a strange bloke.”

“It was the right thing to do.”

“And that _proves_ you’re a good man, Jaime,” she urged.

Jaime shook his head. “You’re so stubborn,” he said fondly.

“I’m right,” she insisted.

“You’re the best,” he repeated his words from last night. Brienne blushed and averted her eyes towards her alarm clock. Jaime followed her gaze. 9:43AM. “I should go,” he said, but, as he made to make a move, his hand flew to his head where it felt as though somebody was tightening a belt around his brain.

“Shit…" he exhaled heavily. "I shouldn’t be asking you this on the basis of my shitty behaviour, but would you mind at all if I stayed for a little while?”

“Don’t you have work?” she asked. Jaime knew he was already two days behind schedule workwise, but he also knew there was no way he would get anything productive done with a hangover looming over him.

“Work can wait.”

“Mine can’t,” Brienne murmured. “I’ve got a ton of stuff to do before I join Cat’s team permanently.”

“Permanently? Congratulations!”

Brienne’s answering smile was unrestrained and gawky. Jaime thought she looked adorable.

“She offered the job to me yesterday,” she explained, and Jaime felt the tension between them begin to dissipate. “We’ve yet to finalise the details, but I need to get in touch with some of the sites I write for to discuss new terms going forward.”

“You deserve it,” Jaime gushed, feeling strangely proud of her despite having no grounds to feel such pride. “It’s no _CasterlyROCK_ , of course, but I think you’ll thrive nonetheless.”

“I guess we’re rivals now, then… _CasterlyROCK_ versus _LadyStoneheart_ ,” Brienne said.

Jaime grinned at her. “Bring it on. I guess we’ll be seeing much more of each other at gigs, friends or not.”

Brienne smiled at that, and Jaime could tell they were both on the same page again. He could almost convince himself that she was just as excited at that prospect as he was. “You can stay,” she answered his earlier question. “As long as you’re not a distraction.”

“I’ll be good as gold. You won’t know I’m here.”

“I doubt that.” She laughed. “I bet you can’t stay quiet for five minutes.”

With some struggle, Jaime proved her wrong. He managed to stay silent for a good couple of hours, finding a strange contentment in watching her scratch her head or listening to her tap her fingers against the wood of her desk whenever she paused to think. He was feeling particularly sorry for himself, still in yesterday’s clothes that were damp with alcohol-scented sweat, and sprawled out in the middle of Brienne’s bed as if he belonged there.

Brienne was still in her pyjamas, an oversized t-shirt and baggy bottoms that made her look much slighter than she was. Jaime had to fight the urge on multiple occasions not to walk over to her desk and press his lips to hers again. He daren’t overstep that boundary again, though. She might not have kicked him out yet, and she’d told him she still valued him, but she hadn’t given him any explicit reaction to the kiss. Had she wanted it? Had she enjoyed it? Had she been repulsed by it? He wouldn’t know unless he asked her, but he couldn’t do that. Instead, he sat in silent worry that she might suddenly decide his presence and his kiss were very much unwanted and disappear from his life as quickly as she had entered it.

Jaime tried to distract himself, reaching for his phone. He was surprised to see that Brienne had been thoughtful enough to put it on charge for him last night. But then he berated himself for the surprise he felt, because _of course_ she thought about everything. She was just that considerate. He wasn’t surprised to see a message on his phone from someone who couldn’t be less considerate if she tried.

 **Cersei:** _Miss me yet, dear brother?_

He ignored it, finding it surprisingly easy to cast all thought of her aside now that she’d officially tossed him away, and blocked her number with a relieved satisfaction.

Jaime decided it was probably best if he checked his emails if nothing else; he’d already wasted yesterday and most of the day before that drinking and doing nothing productive, after all. He couldn’t justify throwing another day of work down the toilet, so he made sure he was all up to date with his work emails before checking his personal emails.

Before long, an idea struck him.

“Hey, Brienne.” He waited as she continued typing for a second, finishing her sentence, before turning to him.

“Nearly three hours, Jaime. Well done.” She smirked at him. “Can I help you?”

“Have you ever been to Maegor’s HoldFest?”

Maegor’s HoldFest was the biggest summer festival in Westeros, held within the old Red Keep and its grounds, and only the biggest and best bands played there. Smaller bands played smaller gigs on the streets of King’s Landing for those unlucky enough not to get a ticket to the festival itself, and the atmosphere in the capital was just phenomenal. Jaime had been countless times for the sake of his magazine and it was almost always his favourite weekend of the year, but he’d never been solely to enjoy himself. He wondered if Brienne might enjoy it too.

“In King’s Landing? As if,” she snorted. “Tickets are impossible to come by.”

“Well, I’ve just bought you one.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “You’ve just– Why?”

“Don’t you want to come with me?” Jaime was momentarily crestfallen. Maybe he’d been too optimistic to believe her when she’d said she still wanted him in her life. Maybe she was too polite to tell him outright that she wanted nothing more to do with him.

“I– Yes, but–”

He grinned at her like a boy half his age at her hesitant acquiescence. “No buts, then. I have a few conditions, though.”

Brienne eyes him with suspicion. “Go on…”

“No alcohol. For the whole weekend.”

“Deal,” she said. “Not a problem.”

“You’re not giving me any money towards the ticket. It’s on me,” Jaime insisted.

“I’ll cover the travel cost, then,” she argued and he considered the offer for a moment.

Then he nodded. “As long as you let me pay for accommodation.”

She rolled her eyes. “I can pay my own way, you know.”

“I know. But I don’t want you to,” he urged. “One more condition.”

“Seriously?” She laughed at what was turning more and more into a contract of sorts with multiple terms.

“You have to let me buy you dinner tonight.”

Brienne shook her head. “I’m working.”

“Tomorrow night?” Jaime was adamant.

“Working again.”

“Can’t you just sack it off? You’ve got a much better job lined up now,” Jaime argued, silently pleading to the gods that she wasn’t trying to politely decline his offer.

“Not until I’ve signed the contract, Jaime.” Brienne shook her head. “Besides, I owe The Rock more respect than that. They’ve been decent employers.”

Jaime rolled his eyes at her. “Lunch, then. Now.”

“Why are you being so insistent about this?”

“Because, Brienne, I know I have no right to, but I like you,” he declared matter-of-factly. He was tired of trying to dance around it. “A lot, it seems, and I’d rather do this properly. I fucked up big time last night.”

“You didn’t fuck anything up.” Brienne’s eyes were nervous but reassuring. “We’d both had a drink.”

“Will you let me buy you lunch? _Please?”_

“If you insist,” she conceded, rolling her eyes at his eagerness. Jaime felt that he should be embarrassed, but he was too excited to care.

They both took a shower before heading out, and Jaime felt much more human for having it. He changed into the sweatpants he’d given to Brienne the other day, but he refused to take his hoodie back, adamant that she should keep it. Instead, he borrowed a plain black t-shirt from her. It turned out that they were more or less the same size as she admitted to owning more men’s clothing than women’s because it fit her better.

They headed back to The Rock to pick Brienne’s car up, and Jaime boldly entwined his fingers with Brienne’s on the way as if to inform her that he regarded this as a date. He swung their hands between them casually. Brienne blushed, but gripped his hand tightly, as though wordlessly trying to reassure him that she still had no intentions of running away.

They climbed into her car, and Jaime was pleasantly surprised to hear Arthur Dayne’s gravelly voice blare out of her speakers. Jaime smirked at her. “I was just about to tell you about the time I met Sir Arthur, but I believe you’ve already seen the photo. Have you been stalking me, Tarth?”

“I might have had a quick look at your profile,” Brienne admitted, blushing as she put the car into reverse. “What was he like?”

“Incredible. So humble, but so sure of himself. He had this presence around him, indescribable really. It was almost as if he emanated pure royalty.”

“I’m jealous,” Brienne said. “I’ve never met any of my heroes.”

“You will,” Jaime said with certainty. “You’ll be hobnobbing with them in no time.”

He directed her to a small pub he’d once been to when Tyrion had last visited. When she engaged her handbrake in the car park, he turned to her. “I told you I was buying you lunch, but I think I’m going to buy myself a breakfast. I need something greasy to bring me back to life.”

Brienne laughed at him before looking at the clock on her dashboard. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten breakfast at 13:44 before. I’ll join you.”

When they’d found a table, Jaime headed over to order their food and almost heaved when he caught a whiff of the spirit-soaked beermats on the bar in front of him. _Never again_ , he told himself. The brief reprieve the alcohol offered was not in any way worth the enduring headache or aching stomach. He turned around to glance at Brienne whilst the barman poured their orange juices, and he found her already watching him. 

He smiled at her, and she smiled back. He suddenly felt nervous. He had no idea what territory they were in, some kind of no man’s land between friends and something else, and Jaime had no idea how to _woo_ anybody (thanks to Cersei), let alone someone as complex and self-deprecating as Brienne who was also still trying to come to terms with Jaime's own issues. He was merely thankful that she hadn’t retreated into her own self-securing defences yet.

He returned to her.

“So, what’s your favourite colour?” he asked, placing their glasses on the table.

“Uh, green, I guess.” She looked at him in confusion.

“Mine’s blue.” _Specifically, that of your eyes_.

“I like blue too,” she nodded, “but it reminds me of the sea.”

“Don’t you like the sea? Isn’t Tarth supposed to be surrounded by the bluest waters known to man?”

“It is. But I lost my brother in that blue.” The sadness in her eyes clawed at Jaime’s heart. “The sea never bothered me, though, until I watched as another boy’s body was pulled out just over four years ago. I suddenly couldn’t bear to be around it any longer, and that’s why I had to move to the mainland. Lannisport is great. It’s close enough to the water that I know I can breathe the fresh sea air if I need to, but far enough away that I can avoid seeing it. I love Tarth, but it still haunts me.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been terrible for you,” Jaime said, upset that he’d made her revisit her past. “So, you like green?” Jaime tried to change the subject. He hadn’t failed to notice that she’d chosen the colour of his eyes as her favourite, as he had done for hers.

“Tarth is all sea and meadows and rolling hills,” she said. “Blue and green. The blue overwhelms me now, but I still miss the greenery. It’s not the same over here; it’s too built up and urban.”

“Tarth sounds beautiful,” Jaime murmured.

“It is,” she confirmed. “What made you ask about my favourite colour?”

“I realised I don’t know much about you. It’s weird, because you know the worst parts of me, but I bet you couldn’t guess what my favourite sport is.”

“Football?”

“Second favourite. I like badminton the most.”

“Badminton?” Brienne laughed at him. “You’re right, I would never have guessed that. I feel like we’ve done this all backwards. We’ve spent the night in each other’s apartments and we know each other’s darkest thoughts, but I don’t actually know the first thing about you.”

“We’ll just have to learn as we go,” Jaime assured her, smiling.

They were interrupted by their food’s arrival, and Brienne eyed Jaime’s plate while he took the opportunity to take a sip of his orange juice, thankful for its healing properties.

“Seven hells, I can’t get over the size of your sausage!” she cried, and Jaime choked on his orange juice, his hand coming to his throat as he spluttered unattractively. Brienne’s face quickly turned the colour of the tomato on her plate.

“Gods, Brienne. You can’t say things like that in public,” Jaime teased her when he’d recovered from his coughing fit, grinning like a schoolboy whose classmate had accidentally said _orgasm_ instead of _organism_ in front of their biology teacher.

“Shut up,” she hissed. “Just look at the size of it, though,” she continued, her eyes fixed on it.

Jaime laughed at her again. “My sausage _is_ particularly long and thick,” he agreed, cringing at his own words. Despite his poor attempts at flirting, Brienne’s blush remained on her cheeks and she couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Piss off,” she muttered.

“Oh, Brienne,” Jaime started, taking full advantage of a perfect opportunity to tease her, “I’ve already told you that the first time you said that to me I wanted to kiss you. The gods know what I might do now that you’ve brought up my sausage.”

“You’re an arsehole,” she glowered.

“You’re still here, though.” He smiled at her. “Here. You can have my sausage as a token of thanks for last night,” he said, putting his on her plate, and taking her significantly smaller sausage onto his own.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Jaime argued, and he was surprised to find he was convinced of its truth.

“Thanks,” she muttered, angrily chopping the sausage into pieces to make it less phallic.

“You’re very welcome.” Jaime laughed at her, and eventually she laughed back.

He felt bad for teasing her when she’d been nothing but kind to him, so he decided to change the subject. “So… did Evenfall split as soon as you left Tarth?”

“You know about Evenfall?”

“Of course I do. I’m a music journalist,” he said.

“Still, we were only small…”

“I enjoyed your stuff,” Jaime told her truthfully. “I once attended a show at Summerhall.”

“You did? That was my favourite gig we ever played.”

“You guys were pretty cool, if not a little unconventional,” Jaime said. “Don’t you ever miss playing music?”

“A little.” Jaime watched in amusement as she wiped a bit of tomato off her chin. “I’ve struggled to write ever since. That’s why I got into journalism, I reckon. I couldn’t write my own songs, but I could write about other people’s.”

“That’s a shame,” he lamented. “Your stuff was impressive. I’ve actually got your first EP at home.”

“No, you don’t,” Brienne retorted looking humiliated. “That’s so embarrassing.”

“Why is it?”

“It just feels… personal.”

“You know all my personal shit.” Jaime shrugged.

“I don’t know, I feel weird now knowing you’ve listened to my lyrics.”

“That’s what songs are for, though, right?”

“I guess…” Brienne looked as if she was warring with herself before she spoke again. “I actually picked my guitar up yesterday for the first time in a while. It felt like I was actually getting somewhere for once.”

“That’s great.”

“It was.” She nodded. “Until you started messaging me.”

Jaime laughed at her mock scowl. “I’m sorry. I get very needy when I’ve had a drink.”

“You thought I’d fallen out with you.”

“I’m still not sure why you haven’t.” He sighed. “Like I said, I’m pathetic.”

Brienne’s eyes softened. “You’re not. Weirdly, I quite like chatting to you.” Then, she took Jaime by surprise by taking his hand in her own and squeezing it.

“Can I hear it?” Jaime dared to ask.

“It’s not really worth listening to yet,” she told him, and he watched the self-doubt manifest itself on her face. “It’s unfinished and there aren't any words. It’s nothing special.”

“Words or not, I’d still love to hear it sometime,” he insisted. “If you didn’t mind, that is.”

Brienne looked at him uncertainly before she pulled her hand away from his and reached for her phone. “I, uh, recorded what I had yesterday on my phone. It’s not the best quality, but, uh, if you really want to hear it, I guess I don’t really mind that much.”

Jaime reached for her phone, pressed play, and then held it to his ear, listening to the sound of her bass guitar in unconcealed admiration of her talent. She’d only recorded about a minute or so of her progress, but he found himself drawn to the strange tone of the melody. It was oxymoronic, sweet but sorrowful.

He passed her the phone back, smiling at her in an attempt to ease the nerves visible on her face. “I love it,” he declared. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard before. It’s like an ending and a beginning in one. Like a promise almost.”

“A promise,” Brienne echoed in what Jaime could only described as amazement. “That’s exactly how I thought of it. Like a recognition of sadness, but, at the same time, almost like a promise of better times ahead.”

Jaime smiled at her, picking up his glass to clink it against hers. He couldn’t have described it better himself, and he couldn’t help but compare it to his own situation.

“Cheers.” He raised his glass to her. “To better times ahead.”

Brienne’s answering blush nearly broke his heart.


	8. Brienne IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this when I was on furlough due to COVID-19, but I've since returned to work and I'm on a strange shift pattern for the time being so I'm struggling to find as much time to write.
> 
> Three things to note about this chapter:  
> 1\. There's a wee bit of a jump forward in this chapter so I've kind of bypassed a few weeks to get to the festival weekend.
> 
> 2\. This is my first ever attempt at writing any kind of smut so please don't laugh at me, I am shitting myself (to say the least) at the prospect of posting this.
> 
> 3\. I'm beginning to doubt this story so it might take some time before I figure out where the hell I'm going with it.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. <3

In what she considered an unanticipated turn of events, Brienne Tarth found herself being the new object of Jaime Lannister’s profuse affection. Despite considering him an insufferable idiot of a man to begin with, Brienne found herself beginning to cultivate her own attachment to him in return. Ever since he’d shared his shameful secret with her, regarding his sister and their once vulgar relationship, Jaime had hung on Brienne’s every word like she had all the power in the world. It was endearing to say the least, but Brienne had found it challenging to adapt her life around his needs.

And it turned out that Jaime Lannister was _very_ needy indeed.

After their first date, if you could call a greasy pub breakfast in the afternoon a date, Brienne had discovered that Jaime had many unresolved issues with himself. Even more, she thought, than she herself had. He had needed a lot of reassurance and a lot of patience to begin with, but she was confident he knew now that she wasn’t going anywhere. Although she had found his incestuous relationship perversely disturbing, his honesty had done more to pull her in than his past had done to push her away. She wouldn’t let the very thing he hated himself for be what drove her away from him, and she was more than happy to repeatedly tell him as much if it meant that he would continue to spend his time with her.

So, at first, Brienne had had to juggle working her remaining nights at The Rock (training Pod to a suitable standard before she could leave him to it) alongside spending her days in the _LadyStoneheart_ office (trying to prove to Catelyn Stark that she had indeed been the right candidate for the job). Any leftover hours were spent with Jaime. She’d spent her lunch hour with Margaery most days in the office, but she’d hardly seen Renly in weeks. Then again, she’d hardly done much besides working and kissing Jaime Lannister, and the latter was so pleasant that she hardly felt the sacrifices she’d had to make to accommodate him into her life.

Every second with Jaime only emphasised to Brienne what she’d been missing out on whilst she’d wasted her time pining over her unrequited crush on Renly; her unattainable gay best friend was naught compared to the cocky, irresistible, golden-haired dream of a man that somehow managed to make her feel much more special than she had any right to be.

Brienne, of course, was petrified.

It’s common knowledge that men like Jaime Lannister don’t often fall for girls like Brienne Tarth, and she was well aware that her time with him was limited. She felt herself falling scarily quickly for him, and she feared he wasn’t strong enough to catch her. Though she didn’t doubt his intentions – how could she when he spent all their time apart bombarding her with messages about when he could see her next? – she doubted his ability to commit. Specifically, his ability to commit to a life without Cersei.

Brienne believed wholeheartedly that Jaime _wanted_ to be with her, implausibly, but she couldn’t help but feel a Cersei-shaped rift between them, as if at any moment he might realise what he’d given up and go running back to her. She would never tell him the full extent to which she feared his feelings for his sister, because she knew he’d no doubt flick the switch of his own self-contempt back on. It wasn’t his fault that Brienne had insecurities of her own.

Nevertheless, Brienne’s contentment overrode all her fears and anxieties whenever Jaime’s arms were around her, and she knew that those happy memories of his warm embrace would stay with her long after he left her. She didn’t expect to have Jaime Lannister for very long, so she intended to make the most of the time she did have with him.

She awoke from a restless night’s sleep, riddled with excited anticipation. The day had finally come. The pair of them had been giddy for weeks at the prospect of attending Maegor’s HoldFest together, the biggest festival on Westeros, and today was _finally_ the day she was driving them over to King’s Landing. She finished packing, washed her hair, shaved herself within an inch of her life, and donned her new lacy, sapphire-blue underwear that she was desperate for Jaime to finally tear off her later on. It was no happy accident that she’d purchased new lingerie in Jaime’s favourite colour; though she could do naught to make her body more appealing, she hoped he would like the blue at least.

She was nervous, but she was ready.

At 24 years old, Brienne thought it was about time she got laid, and who better to lose her virginity to than a man as glorious to look upon as Jaime Lannister? A man who clearly respected her, and looked at her as though she’d hung the moon and stars with her own two hands. She didn’t doubt that he’d been desperate to get into her pants, but he’d been nothing short of a gentleman ever since they’d shared their first drunken kiss in her bed.

So far in their relationship, unofficial though it was, Brienne had enforced some “heavy petting” boundaries, by which she’d let Jaime know whenever something had been too much too soon for her. She felt she should be embarrassed to be 24 and still a virgin, but Jaime never made her feel silly for wanting to take things slowly. In fact, his unwavering patience only made Brienne more attracted to him, though she hadn’t realised that could be possible.

Brienne felt she’d made him wait long enough, and she was convinced that there was no way she could spend even a _single_ night in a hotel room with Jaime Lannister without it leading to something more, let alone four. Because, of course, they wouldn’t be camping. No. Brienne wouldn’t have minded staying in a tent; she had been almost excited by the prospect of sleeping in a muddy field having never been to a festival before, but Jaime had flexed his golden credit card and had booked them into a swanky hotel.

That had been the agreement. Jaime had paid for their accommodation, and Brienne had promised to pay for their travel. Hence, they were going on a road trip. Brienne saw no reason to fly to King’s Landing despite Jaime’s protests that it was cheaper and quicker; her tiny car was the environmentally friendly option. Besides, the longer the journey, the longer Brienne would have to mentally plan how exactly she intended to seduce Jaime Lannister.

Before she set off, she phoned him up. He answered immediately as he always did.

“Morning,” he said cheerily.

“Just thought I’d better check you’re awake.” Brienne laughed nervously. “I’m on my way to yours now.”

“Perfect. I can’t wait.”

“Me neither,” she murmured. “See you soon, Jaime.”

“Soon,” he repeated, before Brienne ended the call.

She pressed shuffle on the designated playlist they had compiled together for the journey before putting her car into first and setting off towards his apartment on the outskirts of Lannisport, singing along to The Dragon Queen’s one-hit-wonder single _Dracarys_ in the highest falsetto she could muster. Brienne was positively giddy. She’d always wanted to experience the highs of a music festival. She’d dreamed of the muddy clothes, the sunstroke, the junk food, the portaloos, the magic of the headliner’s set beginning in the half-light of dusk and ending in the pitch-dark of night. Getting to experience all of it with Jaime Lannister was just the cherry on top of Brienne’s dream come true.

She pulled up outside his apartment and was just about to text him before he came bounding out with a rucksack and a suitcase, pausing briefly to lock his door behind him. Brienne popped the boot open for him to put his stuff in, and, soon after, he was sitting beside her in the passenger seat, reaching for his seatbelt and looking half a god.

He wore a hideous, pink, floral, Hawaiian shirt that he had absolutely no right to pull off – and yet he did so effortlessly – tucked into a pair of white shorts that showed off the prominent muscles in his tanned calves. Brienne felt underdressed in comparison, her green vest and black denim shorts combo about as uninspiring as her own face.

Jaime met her eyes and smiled, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. “Hi,” he said. He looked as excited as she felt, and the happiness on his face was unbearably cute.

“Hey.” She blushed in the same way she always did when he was affectionate. “Nice shirt.”

“I thought you might like it.” He smirked at her. “Nice shorts,” he commented, making no attempt to hide the trail his eyes were making up her long legs. Brienne knew they were too short for a woman of her height, but at least there was no fear of flashing anybody as there had been the last time she’d bared her legs in that gods-forsaken dress.

“You all set?” she asked him.

“I am if you are.”

“Well I am if you are,” she confirmed.

“Then drive, Tarth.”

Six hours was a long time to drive, so Jaime made sure that she pulled over whenever they could. He pretended to need the toilet each time, but Brienne could tell that his primary concern was that she took frequent breaks from driving to rest her eyes.

When they pulled into the services some time after midday, Jaime revealed he’d packed some food for them. Brienne’s heart melted when she realised he’d gone to all the trouble of making all the components of afternoon tea: finger sandwiches, tiny quiches, scones, and a slice of Victoria sponge cake each. He’d even brought a flask of coffee, because he knew she wasn’t a big tea drinker.

“This is adorable,” she said, revelling in the embarrassment on his face as he piled the food onto a paper plate for her.

“Well, I had a whole day without you yesterday.” He scowled at her but she knew he was only joking, despite the day earlier being the first full day they’d gone without seeing each other whatsoever since Jaime had made it obvious he had a thing for her. Brienne didn’t understand why he valued her presence so much, but it made her heart flutter whenever he insinuated they hadn’t spent enough time together. “I had to turn to baking to keep myself busy,” he explained. “I’ve never baked a thing so I’m not convinced it’ll be edible.”

“It looks great,” she assured him. “Maybe I should leave you to your own devices more often if it means we get a decent cake out of it.

“Don’t push your luck,” he warned, laughing. “Yesterday it was baking, next time it might be something like kayaking to the Iron Islands and back just to pass the time.”

“Or you could simply do whatever it is you did before you met me,” Brienne suggested.

“Life before you was dull, Tarth,” was all he said.

When they eventually got back onto the roads, after Brienne had finally convinced Jaime that her stomach was full and her eyes well-rested enough to continue, it was 14:40 and they still had half of their journey to go.

“No more stops now; we’re already behind schedule,” she told him in her sternest voice. “You need to piss? You do so in a bottle.”

Jaime snorted at her. “Yes, sir,” he responded, giving her a mock salute.

For the remainder of the journey, Jaime rested his hand on Brienne’s bare thigh, which was distracting to say the least. Brienne had come to learn that Jaime was very tactile, and he liked to feel that she was near. Not that Brienne was complaining. She loved that he struggled to keep his hands off her, but the hand on her thigh was a constant hint towards the more intimate touches she longed for later on.

It became inconvenient when they left the motorway and his the slow-moving traffic in the capital. Having to stop and start constantly meant that Brienne had to put her car in and out of gear every time they crawled forwards slightly, and pull the handbrake whenever they stopped; both proved difficult with Jaime’s hand in the way. She didn’t let on that it was somewhat a hindrance, though, and, even if he noticed, Jaime didn’t remove his hand from her thigh.

By the time they finally made it to their hotel, after an additional, unexpected two hours spent sitting in traffic, it was nearly 20:00. Brienne was shocked when a man approached the car, requesting they remove their luggage and leave the key in the ignition. Jaime politely explained the concept of valet parking to her, amused by her reaction, and Brienne was gobsmacked.

“I can park my own car,” she argued.

“Yes, but the point is that you don’t have to,” he explained, laughing. “Come on.” He climbed out of the car and had their luggage out of the boot before Brienne had moved from her seat.

“Or are you just going to sit here in your car all night refusing to be parked?”

Brienne huffed but climbed out of the car. “How much did you pay for this place?”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“They employ a bloke simply to park cars, Jaime! You didn’t have to go for the most expensive hotel in Westeros, you know. I would have been more than happy in a tent.”

“It’s not the _most_ expensive,” he argued, as if a five-star hotel would be even remotely affordable. Brienne knew his magazine was hugely successful and he no doubt had a lot of money in the bank, but she didn’t want him to think she was the type of girl who wanted him to spend a fortune on her. His time and affection already seemed too much to ask of him.

He pulled the handles on both of their suitcases, dragging them behind him, one in each hand and set off towards the revolving doors at the hotel entrance.

“Let me,” Brienne argued. “You’ve done enough.” She wrestled his case away from him and then wheeled it around to his other hand to retrieve her own case.

Jaime laughed at her indignance. “I was only trying to be chivalrous.”

“I don’t need chivalry. I’m capable enough on my own.”

She marched ahead of him, a mixture of minor irritation and severe nerves getting the better of her. She guided their cases through the revolving doors and then stood to one side waiting for him to catch up.

“Hey, what’s up?” he said, concerned, when he finally emerged. “You seem off.”

Brienne shook her head. “I’m fine,” she told him. “Seriously.” She gave him a quick kiss to reassure him, and then motioned for him to lead the way to the front desk.

“Jaime Lannister,” he told the woman on reception, and Brienne watched in jealousy as she looked Jaime up and down, clearly pleased with what she saw there. “Two adults for four nights.”

At the mention of a second person, the woman, who was much more attractive than Brienne, turned to look at her, repeating what she’d done with Jaime by eyeing her up and down. A look of distaste appeared on her face, and then a blatant perplexity when she looked back to Jaime. The difference between Jaime and herself that was so apparent to Brienne was no doubt glaringly obvious to this woman too. The receptionist gave Brienne what she assumed was supposed to be a friendly smile, but it was too late. Brienne had already taken offence.

“Wonderful,” the receptionist said. “So you’ll be staying in our Blackwater Suite on the top floor. Check out is at 11:00AM on Monday morning, breakfast is through those doors there,” she gestured behind them, “and the lift is just in the corner. If you have any requests or concerns, I’ll be here _all night_.”

She gave Jaime a lingering smile as though offering more than just her professional assistance.

Jaime wrapped his arm around Brienne’s waist, pulling her closer to him. “Thank you, I think we’ll be just fine,” he told the receptionist, picking up their key card from the desk, and then pulling Brienne along, their cases trailing behind her.

There were six floors in total, so it didn’t take long for them to reach theirs. Jaime seemed to know exactly where their room was, which made Brienne worry that maybe he had been here before with Cersei. Her worries were put to rest when he told her he’d seen a sign directing them to the Blackwater Suite. He inserted the key card, and held the door open for Brienne to enter first.

She had never seen anything of its like before. The Blackwater Suite was more luxurious than she could have imagined. A queen-sized bed sat on one side of the room, while the other side hosted a lounge area, three pristine, white sofas situated around an enormous television which was mounted to the wall. Straight ahead, a set of glass doors were open, the scarlet curtains swinging slightly as the wind blew through.

Brienne could see the sea from where she stood in the doorway, but she felt none of her usual anxiety despite the force of the Blackwater tide. The sea breeze was a relief, almost, in the face of her nerves for the evening ahead.

“We can close the curtains if you want,” Jaime told her, noticing her line of sight. “I know you’re not fond of the sea.”

She shook her head. “Can we sit out there for a bit?”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “It’s not that I hate the sea… It just got a bit overwhelming on Tarth. I want to feel the breeze.”

“Of course,” Jaime replied. He pulled her to him and Brienne held onto his arms as he kissed her slowly. “I’m glad you’re here with me,” he murmured.

“Me too,” she replied.

They sat on the balcony for a couple of hours, and Jaime introduced her to a card game called bullshit. Brienne had never been happier. The combination of the sea air around her and the simplistic comfort of Jaime’s legs pressed against her own beneath the table was a contentment she had never known.

“Bullshit!” she cried.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Have a look,” he told her.

“Bollocks,” she said. He hadn’t been lying, which meant she had to pick the stack of cards up yet again. “You’re too good at this game.”

“I’m not, you just don’t trust me.” He smirked. “I don’t bluff, Brienne. I do, however, need to piss. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.” Brienne was thankful to put the game to bed for a moment. He’d beaten her every time.

He kissed the top of her head as he walked past her back into their room, and Brienne blushed. It was the little things he did that meant the most to her. Sure, the hotel suite was a nice touch, but she would settle for a hug here or a kiss on the cheek there.

She rose from her seat in his absence, taking the opportunity to look out onto the sea. As she stared out at the tumultuous, calamitous waves crashing onto the rocks of Blackwater Bay that had only raged more fervently since the sun had gone down, Brienne silently sent a prayer to the Seven that the sea would take no lives this weekend. She knew that most festival-goers, herself and Jaime excluded, would make the most of the festival by drinking copious amounts of alcohol, and she feared that they might be lured towards the magnificence of the bay while intoxicated.

Nonetheless, Brienne found herself again enchanted by the sea’s beauty. She found a strange peace in the rhythm of the harsh waves breaking against the rocks, and she timed her breathing to match its pace. The later it got, the more nervous Brienne felt. She wanted Jaime tonight, and time was slipping away from her. She needed all the confidence in the world if she intended to successfully woo Jaime Lannister, and she needed all the oxygen she could take from the crisp sea air if she were to have any chance of thinking clearly.

As if on cue, Brienne heard Jaime’s footsteps behind her. Suddenly more nervous than ever before, even more so than she had been before Evenfall’s first ever gig when she’d had to introduce people other than her bandmates and her father to her own, very personal lyrics, Brienne continued to lean against the balcony’s railing as though she were unaware of his presence. As if she didn’t feel the very palpable tension whenever he was near her.

He didn’t say anything, but she felt his chest against her back and his arms encircled her waist, pulling her against him. He leaned around to kiss her on the cheek before resting his head on her shoulder, sending her weak at the knees. She was taller than he was, but it meant that his head nestled quite snugly on her shoulder, as though she had been designed specifically for his comfort. He swayed from side to side, and Brienne felt a huge wave of affection for him. His casual intimacy was more than anything she’d ever dared to dream for.

“Ok?” he asked, as he continued to rock them both from side to side.

Brienne nodded. “Galladon was eight when he drowned. I was only four. I barely remember him,” she murmured, unsure of where her own words had come from. “I feel guilty for leaving my dad back on Tarth. I ran away from my grief like a craven, and I abandoned him in the process.”

Jaime’s arms tightened around her. “I’m sure he understands. He might have lost his son, but you lost your brother too. I don’t blame you for wanting a fresh start.”

“It seems stupid, really, that I couldn’t bear to be around the sea, when most of my happiest memories were on Tarth surrounded by it.”

“It’s not stupid, Brienne.” He kissed her cheek again.

Brienne absently watched the waves roll back and forth. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Mm,” Jaime agreed.

She stood in the safety of his embrace a short while longer, before he kissed her cheek again. Then, she closed her eyes, willing the confidence of somebody much more beautiful than herself, before turning in his arms to kiss him. The first time she’d ever initiated anything between them beyond a quick peck. Jaime seemed to be surprised, because it took him a moment to react to her lips on his, but, when he did, Brienne melted in his arms. She would never tire of kissing him.

But, tonight, she wanted more.

Nervously, Brienne brought her hands between their bodies, reaching for the top button on his shirt, fumbling awkwardly until she successfully unfastened it. Determined, she undid the next one, and the next. She tugged upwards on the garish pink fabric, untucking it from his white shorts, before pausing for a moment to enjoy the sensation of his tongue on hers. In a bid to spell out her bold intentions for the evening, Brienne traced a line all the way down his back before bravely pinching his backside.

Jaime groaned at the contact and pulled away, breaking their kiss. Brienne was not surprised to see a smug smirk on his face. “What in the seven hells has got into you?” he asked.

“Don’t make me spell it out to you,” she pleaded, placing a light kiss on his neck and lingering there in a bid to hide her expression. “I think it’s pretty obvious what I want, Jaime.”

“I won’t know for sure unless you say it,” he murmured.

“You,” she said. Then, more confidently, she looked directly into his eyes. “I want _you_.”

Jaime groaned, wasting no time in pulling her mouth back to his, kissing her with a fervour she had no idea he possessed. The intensity of his lips on hers now made it clear to Brienne that he’d been holding himself back the entire time, and she could curse her stupid rules. She’d had no idea he would be so passionate; she’d had no idea his kisses could be even sweeter. He caressed her tongue with his own, more sensually than their previous kisses, and then he gently bit down on her lower lip, pulling at it slightly to tease her. Brienne moaned involuntarily, and she was glad his eyes were closed because she was certain that her face had never been a deeper red.

Jaime’s hands were at her waist, holding her firmly in place as if to prevent her from fleeing, his thumbs gently stroking her bare sides where her top had ridden up slightly. Brienne reluctantly pulled her lips away from his in order to finish ridding him of his own shirt, but Jaime didn’t pause when she pulled away, leaning forward instead to plant kisses across her jaw and down her neck, whilst Brienne fumbled with the last button on his shirt.

Tentatively, she ran her hands up and over her abs, feeling their solid prominence, finally appreciative of all the working out he’d been doing to keep himself busy while Brienne was occupied. She felt his pecs hard beneath her hands as she continued upwards before she brought her hands up to rest on his wide, sturdy shoulders to support herself whilst he sucked gently on her neck. Brienne moaned again, this time bringing a hand to her mouth in embarrassment.

Jaime brought a hand to her wrist, pulling it away and gently kissing her pulse point. “Don’t,” he murmured into the inside of her wrist. “I want to hear you.”

Brienne looked back at him hesitantly, her heart about to pound its way right out of her chest; his green eyes were the absolute vision of lust. Bravely, she grabbed both sides of his shirt, and, sensing what she was doing, Jaime lowered his arms to allow her to slide it off his shoulders and onto the floor.

“You’re gorgeous,” Brienne murmured as he stood before her in all his bare-chested glory, her eyes drawn to the fine coating of golden hair across his pecs, and, further down, a darker trail of hair beneath his navel. Brienne swallowed nervously.

“I’m _yours_ ,” Jaime replied, his voice husky with desire, cupping her head with his hand to bring his lips to her own once more. Brienne threw her arms around his neck, pushing her body closer to his and kissing him deeply, trying to convey with her body the words she didn’t think she could utter. _And I’m yours_ , she thought. _Desperately and hopelessly yours._

Jaime guided her back into their room, pulling away briefly to close the door to the balcony and draw the curtains. He returned to her to trail more kisses down her neck again and Brienne thought her heart might explode. He was being so careful, so gentle; she could tell he was aware of her nerves, and he was doing everything and more to make sure she was at ease. When he reached her collarbone, he traced it with kisses until he reached the centre, his mouth lingering in the hollow part beneath her throat.

His lips trailed slightly further downwards, and then further again, until he reached the neckline of her vest. He broke away, and Brienne felt the absence of his touch immediately, but his hands came to either side of her waist again, toying with the hem of her vest, and she saw the question in his eyes. She nodded, and he slowly pulled it up and over her head.

Brienne watched as his eyes landed on her meagre breasts.

“Brienne,” he whispered, biting his lower lip. He swallowed so loudly that she heard it.

“I know they’re not much to look at,” she started nervously. “You don’t have to bother coming up with something nice to say about them just to make me feel better.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Jaime growled. He looked into her eyes with an upset kind of anger. “You have no idea, do you?”

He tugged her body closer to his own and Brienne felt the hairs on his lower abdomen tickle her bare stomach as he gently but firmly pressed his groin up against her thigh. He was already hard. “Can you feel that?” he asked.

Brienne nodded, the unfamiliar feeling of her own arousal slowly manifesting inside her.

“That’s all you, Brienne,” he murmured, before kissing her forehead. Brienne trembled in his arms. “Please don’t do me the dishonour of doubting my attraction to you.”

“O- Ok,” Brienne managed to splutter out, all eloquence having abandoned her now that she could feel his cock so close to where she needed to feel it.

He grabbed her bare waist again, kissing her in silent reassurance, before pulling away and placing a chaste kiss between her shapeless breasts. “Perfect,” he whispered. He ran his right hand up beneath her bra and began to trace slow circles around her nipple with his thumb, the sensation of the rough skin on his thumb against her own delicate skin eliciting a moan from Brienne.

Too soon, he pulled his hand out of her bra, instead slowly lowering himself to his knees as he kissed his way down her torso to her shorts. He hooked a finger below the waistband on both sides before again looking at her, waiting for her permission to remove her shorts. Brienne nodded, her heartrate so fast that she was surprised that neither of them could hear its rampant thudding. She looked down at him on his knees before her, and… _Gods._ She’d never felt desire like it. She was desperate for his touch.

Jaime gently pulled her shorts down, until she was stood before him in nothing but the lacy, blue underwear she’d bought specifically for his satisfaction. He looked up at her, his head almost unbearably close to the place she wanted him the most, and Brienne saw a look in his eyes that she’d never expected to see on any man’s face directed at her. His affection was very much plain to see, as was his unconcealed lust. Brienne’s stomach clenched in anticipation when she saw the softness in his eyes become hunger.

“You look so fucking good in blue,” he murmured, his lips grazing the top of her thigh as he continued to look up at her.

“You have the prettiest eyes.”

He kissed the inside of her right thigh.

“The sexiest legs.”

He repeated the kiss on the opposite side.

“The most amazing breasts.”

He pressed a kiss just above her knickers. Brienne trembled, but she didn’t know whether it was because of his words or his kisses.

“Do you trust me, Brienne?”

_With my life_ , she might have said. Instead, she nodded, not trusting her own voice. Still on his knees before her, he tugged lightly at the dainty bow on the front of her knickers. “May I?” he murmured.

Brienne shivered at the audible lust in his voice. She merely nodded again in response, closing her eyes. She took a deep breath to calm herself as he began to pull her knickers down achingly slowly, teasing her no less than she had expected of the man who had made it his mission to wind her up when they had first met.

She stepped out of them when she felt them against her ankles, opening her eyes just in time to see Jaime toss them aside. “Sit down,” he commanded, his eyes flickering towards the bed. “Trust me when I say your legs will be trembling too much to support you in a moment.”

“Is that a threat?” she managed to speak, her voice lower and more shaky than normal.

He smirked at her.

“A promise.”

He walked her over to the bed, kissing her briefly as his hand came around to her back to remove her bra. Just as he had with her knickers, he tossed it to one side before taking her right nipple into his mouth, stimulating it with his tongue while he stroked her left nipple with his thumb. Brienne moaned. The new sensations were proving to be more intense than she’d imagined they would be.

As she perched on the edge of the bed, Jaime knelt before her again, parting her legs and raising one over his shoulder. Brienne was instantly mortified. She couldn’t help but notice that his face was _right there_ , and she was very much naked.

“Do you still trust me?” he asked, his voice gruff.

“Yes.”

He kissed the inside of her thigh. “Good. Relax.”

Brienne lowered herself onto the bed, trembling with anticipation. She closed her eyes for an agonising moment, waiting for him to touch her, to do anything, and then she felt him kiss her between her legs.

A surprised _oh_ left her lips, but there was no time for her to be embarrassed because Jaime was persistent, his tongue teasing at her opening, before moving to her clit and then back again in an agonisingly sweet rhythm.

“Jaime,” she moaned, the bristly ends of his beard teasing the inside of her thigh as his mouth worked tirelessly. She writhed beneath his tongue, each gentle stroke eliciting another moan that she could not hold back for the life of her. The more she wriggled, the better it felt. As he began to gently suck her clit, she felt him push a finger inside her and she quivered at the unfamiliar intrusion. He moved it in and out just once, unrelenting with his tongue, before she felt him insert another finger.

“Is this ok?” he asked. She felt the vibration of his deep voice against her clit, causing pleasure she never believed possible shooting upwards through her core.

“Yes,” she just about managed to reply. “Gods, yes.”

He increased the pace of his fingers, his tongue still eagerly lapping against her clit. Brienne felt as though she was losing her mind, losing control of something she never knew she had. He was right, of course. Her legs _were_ trembling, and something deep within her was tightening, pulling her towards something unfamiliar, but something she was desperate to reach. He increased the pressure of his tongue on her clit, and it was almost too much for her. Sensing she was close, Jaime gripped her thighs tighter to hold her still as he buried his face further between her legs.

Brienne felt something unfamiliar building within her, the sweetest torture imaginable, and she grasped the bedsheets beneath her in a feeble attempt to keep herself grounded. “Jaime, I– I–” she started to say, but her words quickly abandoned her as she felt her back arch and her thighs tighten around Jaime’s head. She cried out wordlessly as his tongue brought her closer to the edge, before she felt her whole body tense and the most incredible wave of pleasure finally sweep her away. Jaime continued his onslaught as she rode out her orgasm.

When she sank back into the bed, breathless and intoxicatedly content, his fingers left her and he placed a final, almost chaste kiss to her clit which Brienne found almost hilarious after he’d been ravaging her without restraint not a minute earlier.

He climbed onto the bed beside her, and she turned onto her side to face him. She’d expected a smirk of satisfaction on his face, but, instead, all she saw was a smouldering intensity. She leaned forward to kiss him, tasting herself on his tongue and lips. It was almost too intimate for her. Her body was still crying out in desire for him.

“Brienne,” he growled her name against her lips as he pulled her on top of him. She straddled his hips, painfully aware that his cock was hard against her and waiting, but she had no idea how to return the pleasure he’d inflicted on her.

She rolled off him again, hesitantly playing at the waistband of his shorts. Sensing her nerves, Jaime kissed her again before shuffling both his shorts and his boxers down from his hips, kicking them off when they reached his ankles. Brienne almost daren’t look. It wasn’t just that she was a virgin, it was that she was totally and completely inexperienced. Entirely clueless when it came to being with a man. In all of her 24 years, she had never once even laid eyes on a man’s genitals, and she was completely at a loss as to how she should touch him.

“I, um– I’ve never–” she started to say, but thankfully he didn’t need her to spell it out.

“Here,” Jaime said, reaching for her hand. “I’ll show you.” He wrapped her hand around his cock, his own hand enveloping hers as he adjusted her grip, and began to guide her hand back and forth along the length of it. Brienne was fascinated by the feeling of it in her hand; she had no idea how it could feel so hard yet so soft, firm but yielding to her. Eventually, Jaime’s hand left hers as his breathing became more erratic, and Brienne, sensing she was doing something right, bravely increased her rhythm.

The sounds that left Jaime’s lips were unbearably sexy, and Brienne felt her own pleasure spike again as she pleasured him. She could barely believe she was having such an overwhelming effect on him despite her lack of experience. She kissed him again, reaching to stroke his beard with her free hand which earned her another growl of appreciation.

“Brienne,” he uttered between kisses, his voice deliciously husky. He gradually slowed their kiss, and Brienne mimicked the slower pace with her hand around his cock, stroking him so slowly that his answering groans sounded agonised. “Brienne,” he repeated her name. “If you want me inside you at any point soon, you’re going to have to stop that.”

Brienne paused, confused.

“I’m close,” he admitted. “I’d rather come inside you than in your hand.”

Brienne’s face blazed in embarrassment, but she removed her hand from his cock to instead cup his cheek.

“I want you,” she said more bravely than she felt.

Jaime kissed her forehead. “For certain?”

“More than anything.”

He moved as if to reach for his wallet, but Brienne pulled him back. “I’m on the pill,” she told him nervously, wanting to feel Jaime without the barrier of a condom. “You can… you know… I don’t mind if it’s inside me,” she fumbled over her words.

He claimed her mouth with his own once again. “I’ll be gentle,” he promised, as he guided her onto her back and positioned himself between her parted legs. She reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, bringing him down for a slow, passionate kiss that she hoped would convey her wholehearted trust in him. She pushed her hips up to meet his, desperate to feel him, the feeling of his cock at her opening so unfamiliar yet so _right_.

He pulled back slightly to look at her. “I knew as soon as I looked into those eyes that I’d fall for those eyes,” he told her. Brienne’s heart fluttered at his words, but she knew it was likely that his emotions were intensified, exaggerated by his arousal. She pulled his head back to hers to kiss him again and he slowly pressed against her, guiding his cock into her as gently as he had promised. He paused when he was fully sheathed inside her to allow her to adjust to the foreign sensation, but Brienne barely had time to register how little it had hurt before she found herself desperately wriggling her hips beneath him, urging him to move inside her.

And then he was fucking her, hard and fast and desperately, and Brienne had no time to entertain her own insecurities because he was holding her as if she were the most precious woman in all the world, and she lost herself in his tenderness. She had never thought to be on the receiving end of any kind of passion, especially not from a man of Jaime Lannister’s calibre.

But, then, it wasn’t Jaime Lannister the unattainable, standoffish, eligible editor of a rock music magazine, widely renowned and reviled across Westeros as a sleazy, money-grabbing journalist.

It wasn’t Jaime Lannister as the rest of the world knew him at all, handsome though he was.

It was Jaime the man who had set out to irritate the living shit out of her, Jaime who had saved her from potential rape, Jaime who had opened up to her about the very things he hated most about himself.

It was Jaime who had willed her to spend all her free time with him and Jaime she had happily made those sacrifices for, Jaime who had baked her cakes and worried about her optical health on the long drive to King’s Landing, Jaime who had kissed her so tenderly, and who had made her feel more desirable than she deserved to feel.

It was _her_ Jaime: the side she was convinced that only she knew.

_Her_ Jaime with whom, against her better judgement, Brienne was undeniably falling fiercely and completely and inescapably in love.


	9. Jaime V

“I find it hard to believe you haven’t done that before,” Jaime murmured breathlessly as a short laugh escaped his lips.

“I haven’t,” Brienne insisted, her chest heaving.

“I know,” Jaime reassured her, bringing a hand up to stroke her hair and leaning forward to kiss a freckled shoulder. “Fucking incredible way to wake up, though, Tarth.”

If Jaime had been caught off-guard the previous night when Brienne had finally given in to the sexual tension between them, he was absolutely staggered when he’d awoken to her desperate enthusiasm to repeat the act before he’d barely had chance to open his eyes. He had fallen asleep spooning her, his naked form wrapped around her own, and his cock had seemingly awoken long before he had, as it often did in the morning. Brienne had hesitantly taken him in her hand as she had done last night, eager to bring him pleasure – something that Jaime was unused to during his only other previous sexual encounters with Cersei – before she had brazenly climbed into his lap.

Words had failed him as he’d watched her slowly ease herself onto his cock, completely dumbfounded by her courage. Sure, Brienne was fierce and bold in her own way, but Jaime knew that she was shy and hesitant when it came to her physicality, and he felt honoured to be the first man with whom she’d shared enough trust that she’d dared to explore her own sensuality with him. Knowing she felt comfortable enough in his company to act on her own desires without fear of rejection made his heart swell.

It was also a massive turn-on.

Jaime had never been more aroused in his life.

He’d pulled her head down to meet his, at first kissing her slowly as he’d failed miserably to keep his hips still, rocking into her gently before Brienne had picked up the courage to set her own pace, seeking out her own pleasure, faster and faster, until she was riding him almost desperately.

“Insatiable,” he’d groaned into her collarbone, and her answering moan had stood his hairs on end. She rolled her hips into his so expertly that Jaime found it hard to believe that her only previous sexual encounter was the one he had shared with her last night.

“Mine,” he’d murmured as his hands had roamed her body as though he couldn’t get enough of her. He had never felt so possessive in his life, so desperate for someone to return his feelings. He’d been hooked on Cersei in a different way entirely, a fruitless dependency; his feelings for Cersei were redundant in the face of what he felt so intensely for Brienne.

“Yours,” she’d returned breathlessly, her back arching in ecstasy. “Gods, I wish we’d done this a month ago.”

Brienne had tensed around him soon after, and Jaime had groaned in excruciating relief as he finally raced towards his own release, coming with a grunt before Brienne had collapsed onto his chest, the pair of them both fighting to get their breath back.

Now that he’d had a taste of it, Jaime couldn’t wait to fuck Brienne on every surface of every room of both of their apartments. He doubted he could ever get enough of her.

“We still have three more mornings before we check out,” Brienne said suggestively, as if reading his mind.

“And plenty more mornings beyond them too, I should hope,” Jaime pressed gently, eager to hear Brienne’s assent to a more long-term arrangement. This was no casual fling to Jaime, and he prayed that she was on the same page.

“I’ll be here as long as you want me,” she assured him.

Jaime thought that was a funny thing for her to say; he couldn’t possibly fathom a time where he _wouldn’t_ want her. He tried to search her eyes for any hesitance, but all he saw in them was an affectionate warmth.

_I’d be quite happy to drown in those eyes for an eternity_ , he thought for the hundredth time as he marvelled at their sapphire hue once again.

He watched as her gaze flitted down to his lips, and took the opportunity to kiss her; he savoured the wonderful feeling of her thick lips against his own. Kissing Brienne was like taking a drug he’d never known he had needed all his life: a cure for his woes. He’d known since the very first time he’d kissed her that her lips were remedial as they’d done a stellar job of alleviating his drunken sorrows. Since then, Jaime had almost convinced himself of the impossibility that if he spent enough time kissing Brienne, there might come a time where he’d never feel pain again.

Too soon, she pulled away, and Jaime’s cock fell out of her limply as she rolled herself to one side. His only thought was that he already couldn’t wait for the next time he would be inside her.

Maybe _he_ was the insatiable one.

She soon pressed herself against him again, settling her head on his chest as she wrapped an arm around him. He leant down to kiss the top of her head as he gratefully brought his own arms around her. He would be more than content to spend the rest of his life with her in his arms, in this bed, in this very moment. Exactly like this.

Yes, the sex had been phenomenal, but Jaime almost enjoyed cuddling up to her more. In the past, his only sexual experiences had been purely one-sided; Cersei would call him over, have him fuck her, then, once she was sated, she would kick him out almost immediately after. No tenderness, just a dutiful, passionless rutting to satisfy his sister’s desires as and when she needed him.

Being able to bask in this shared contentment with Brienne felt infinitely more intimate than anything that Jaime had ever before experienced. He had been Brienne’s first, and, in a way, she had been his.

The first person he’d been forthcoming in opening up to; the first woman he’d ever actively pursued; the first heart that had ever captured his own so completely.

He’d come almost unbearably close to telling her how he felt about her last night, but, as always, his timing had been all off and he’d been much too indirect. Jaime knew she’d most likely brushed it off as a heat-of-the-moment thing, driven by lust: something a man might say to keep a woman coming back to his bed. He knew he had to try again, and he owed it to her to make it special. He knew Brienne had insecurities of her own, so he was going to have to spell it out to her if he thought there might be any chance that she would ever believe him when he told her.

Because he _loved_ her, and he didn’t think he could possibly spend another day in her company without making sure she knew it.

And it wasn’t in the same way he’d thought he’d loved Cersei, but without prompt, without manipulation, and without reserve. She had come to mean everything and more to him in such a short space of time, the shining light in the endless dusk of his life, and it both excited him and scared the seven shitting hells out of him at once.

“This is nice,” she murmured against his chest, tightening her arm around him.

_You have no idea._

Jaime hummed his agreement and took the opportunity to kiss the top of her head again, holding her closer to him.

“What time is it?” she asked before she tried to wriggle out of his grasp. Jaime held her firmly in place with one arm to stop her from moving, reaching for his phone on the bedside table with his free hand.

“Nearly half ten.”

“We should get up,” she suggested rather unconvincingly. It seemed she wanted to leave the comfort of their embrace no more than Jaime did.

“Just five more minutes,” he murmured. “And then we can follow your dumb itinerary.”

“Hey!” She smacked his chest playfully. “It’s _our_ dumb itinerary; you contributed just as much to it as I did,” she argued. “And it’s not dumb!”

Jaime laughed at her response, kissing her head again. They had spent a whole evening around his kitchen table last week with sheet upon sheet of paper laid out before them at Brienne’s request. She’d demanded they come up with some sort of schedule for the weekend that would ensure they saw all the bands they both wanted to see whilst maximising their time for any other various activities they might come across as they moved between stages. Jaime had watched her fondly as she’d scribbled down three lists: two for the bands they each wanted to see and the times they were playing, and one with the stage locations and an approximate distance between them all.

He found it all adorable.

He’d laughed at her at the time, but he was secretly impressed by her commitment. He hadn’t been surprised at all to see her be so thoroughly analytical in her planning, and he had to admit that the silly itinerary was going to structure their weekend impeccably. They’d had to make compromises as to which bands they would prioritise seeing due to clashes, especially on the Saturday and the Sunday when the main headliners were playing, but they’d agreed on a few “gap-fillers” that they both wouldn’t mind seeing.

Today, the Friday of the festival, was mostly a case of passing time and getting a taste for the atmosphere before the festival properly got going on the Saturday.

The only act that either of them were truly looking forward to today was the last on their list: Barry “The Bold” Selmy, a blues guitarist with a reputation in the rock scene second only to the late Sir Arthur Dayne. Jaime hadn’t told Brienne yet, but he’d flaunted his privilege as _CasterlyROCK_ editor to arrange for them both to meet Barry backstage before his set. He’d told her she would one day meet her heroes, and he was making his own words a reality. Jaime couldn’t wait to see her incredible eyes light up in excitement when he eventually told her.

“Come on,” she said, finally sitting up. “We still need to eat breakfast before we set off.”

“Yes, boss,” Jaime muttered, reluctantly getting out of bed and making a start on getting himself ready for the day.

He shovelled his breakfast down his throat quickly at Brienne’s request; she was nearly vibrating with nerves at the prospect of being too late to be granted entry to the Keep. Jaime knew otherwise, but he enjoyed watching the adorable expression on her face whenever she got herself flustered.

When they left the breakfast suite, Jaime pulled Brienne in by the waist as they walked past the same receptionist from last night, making an exaggerated exhibition of pressing his lips against Brienne’s freckled cheek and lingering much longer than he needed to. He was used to women throwing themselves at him almost wherever he went, but he could tell that Brienne had been a little put out when the receptionist had all but offered her body to him.

“What was that all about?” Brienne blushed when they emerged into the pre-midday sun.

“Just making it perfectly clear that you’re the only woman I’m interested in.” He smirked.

“Jaime…” Brienne said as if to admonish him, but a small smile betrayed her pleasure at his words.

“Come on.” Jaime grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the gated walls of the Keep. “We’re letting your precious itinerary down already. Where first?”

“Um, the Postern Gate stage, I think.”

“Oh, for gods’ sake,” Jaime muttered. “That’s on the other side of the Keep.” He looked at his watch. “We’ve got ten minutes before the first bands take to their stages.”

“We’ll just have to make a run for it once we’re in, then,” she said. Jaime enjoyed the thought of racing Brienne despite knowing full well that he had no chance of outrunning those long legs of hers.

There were some perks to Jaime’s job and notoriety, though, and he knew that they would have no problems getting in on time. He might be widely misjudged and disdained, but everybody in the music business knew who Jaime Lannister was, and recognised his import in the industry. He managed to lead Brienne right to the front of the ever-growing queue of at least four hundred people who had also turned up slightly late, and they got waved in almost instantly. Brienne looked at him in astonishment after they’d been through security.

Jaime smirked at her and raised his eyebrows. “Perks of being a Very Important Person.”

Brienne snorted at that. “More like a Very Egotistical Person,” she joked.

“Hey, it got us in, didn’t it?” She laughed at him, and he grabbed her hand before pulling her forward. “Come on, we’ve got some Dothraki drummers to locate.”

Despite Brienne’s fears, they made it just in time to witness Khalasar take to the stage, a bunch of six, brutish men whose name preceded them. Hailing from Vaes Dothrak, Essos, this was the band’s first ever set on Westeros soil; it had been a long time coming to those who admired them, who lovingly, if not a little fanatically, referred to them as their sun and stars.

They had been on Jaime’s radar for some time now, so, when Brienne had expressed an interest, he had been eager to catch their set. They were a little theatrical to say the least, a tribe of men who were very proud of their ancestral, nomadic heritage, and they took to the stage looking quite the part. Their appearance was a performance in itself. Their chests were bare, their eyes lined and their hair long and braided, adorned with tiny bells, which, historically, indicated victory in battle. Musically, however, those bells were just another instrument, tinkling away behind them as they rhythmically struck their steelpans.

Jaime thoroughly enjoyed the irony of a band who’d based their physical image around a historically fierce warrior culture producing such cheery music and performing in front of such a colourful backdrop. They were wonderfully unconventional, but Jaime could see why they were rated so highly.

“Jaime.” Brienne turned to him in the middle of Horseback Khal’s set, and Jaime followed her gaze towards a queue before she looked back at him in childlike excitement. “Can we get our faces painted?”

Jaime laughed at her. He didn’t know what he had been expecting her to say, but that was the last thing he would have guessed. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you?!” she retorted. “It’s part of the whole festival experience.” Her wide eyes made it impossible for Jaime to disappoint her.

“I’ll queue with you,” he said, “but I’m not walking around with a face full of glitter.”

Brienne rolled her eyes at him. “Spoilsport.”

Ten minutes later, both Jaime and Brienne’s faces were like works of art. Luminous yellows and pinks and greens were dotted from their cheekbones and upwards over their eyebrows, and, despite Jaime’s initial protests, they were both coated in glitter, a decision which would most likely haunt them for weeks to come.

“I look like a fucking fairy,” Jaime grumbled as they walked past the queue predominantly made up of teenage girls with their parents.

“You look cute.” Brienne grinned at him.

_She_ looked cute.

“It’s harmless fun, Jaime. Relax.”

But, despite his moaning, Jaime wasn’t really annoyed. How could he be when Brienne had given him with such a wide smile of unbridled joy when he’d reluctantly agreed to have his own face done?

“Jaime? Jaime Lannister? Of _CasterlyROCK?”_ Jaime turned to look at the source of the high-pitched squeal, making eye contact with a young girl of about 16 years. “Oh. My. Gods. It is you! _Jaime_ , I love your magazine _so_ much, your opinion is _literally_ the only one I trust when it comes to music. I absolutely _have_ to have a selfie with you,” she pleaded. “My sister will never believe me!”

Jaime felt like a deer in the headlights, embarrassed to have been caught by a reader whilst covered in facepaint. He looked to Brienne for moral support, and she looked back in surprise and merely shrugged at him.

“Sure,” Jaime told his young reader, stepping into the frame of her phone screen for the selfie. He pulled Brienne into the shot just in time too; she’d had no time to prepare herself to smile for the camera, though, so she was looking at the screen with a perplexed (adorable) expression on her face.

Jaime turned to the young girl. “ _My_ opinion is rubbish,” he said. He jerked his thumb towards Brienne. “ _Hers_ , however, is brilliant. Her commentary is much more profound than mine, and you’ll learn a lot more from it. If you post that picture anywhere, make sure you tag her in it too,” he said. “Tell all your friends to read her stuff. Brienne Tarth of _LadyStoneheart_ ,” he told her.

The young girl smiled at Brienne, and Brienne smiled hesitantly back as she blushed scarlet. “I’ll follow you now,” the girl said. “If Jaime Lannister thinks you’re a good writer then I just _have_ to read your stuff.” She tapped away on her phone, before turning it to Brienne. “Is that you?”

Jaime watched as Brienne blushed. “Yes,” she said.

“Cool.” She tapped on her phone screen again. “I’m following you.”

Brienne smiled again, and Jaime grabbed hold of her hand. He turned to the young girl again. “Well, it’s always a pleasure to meet my readers, but we really must be off. My glitter fairy here has a very strict schedule for us and I’m afraid we’re in a bit of a rush to get to the next stage.”

He pulled Brienne away, but not before marvelling at the way her blush shone even through all the glitter on her cheeks. “Come on, my sweet Titania, take me where you will.”

And, so, the day went on as they had carefully planned, flitting from stage to stage, from strange act to stranger act. The strangest of them all was, undoubtedly, Spider and the Little Birds. Neither of them had heard of the band before when they’d compiled their list, but they’d needed to fill a chunk of time in between Champs of Cyvasse and The Others.

It transpired, however, that Spider and the Little Birds was not in fact a band, but a plump, hairless man who twirled his way about the stage with a collection of bird puppets. Neither Jaime nor Brienne could work out whether he was a parody – intentionally laughable – or whether he was just completely off his trolley. Nonetheless, whether their laughter was intended or not, the entire crowd was in stitches by the end of his performance, and Jaime couldn’t help but stare fondly at Brienne when she threw her head back in uninhibited laughter before turning to grin at him.

He was certain he looked like a love-struck fool, and he was amazed that she didn’t seem to notice the way he wore his love for her so clearly on his face. He almost expressly told her he loved her there and then, but it felt almost a mockery of his emotions to do so in the company of brightly-coloured, feathered puppets.

The time still wasn’t right when The Others took to the stage looking as though they’d rolled in white chalk to achieve a perfectly paperwhite complexion to match their bleached white hair. Their glam rock aesthetic was a statement in itself, and their melodic, operatic rock was genuinely catchy, but between singing about endlessly cold, dark nights and an impenetrable wall, Jaime could find no appropriate time to mutter his declaration of love into Brienne’s ear.

They made their way over to the Serpentine Steps stage to see Baby Trebuchet, a band Brienne had incorporated into their itinerary solely because Jaime had laughed at the band’s name and she’d found his childish tittering “adorable”. By the time Baby Trebuchet were playing their final song, Jaime had convinced himself to wait until they were backstage during Barry the Bold’s set to confess his love to her, mentally planning to take her into his arms during perhaps the most unequivocally romantic song of all time, Selmy’s unparalleled, heart-wrenching Ode to Ashara.

He cringed in anticipation, doubting himself and his cheesy plan, fearing Brienne might look at him and finally see him for the undeserving mess he was. But he had to try. He had to tell her, even if she didn’t return his feelings. Somehow, though, Jaime knew that she did; she had never come anywhere close to being verbally affectionate with him, but she seemed to trust him so completely that he knew she must return his feelings to an extent.

When Baby Trebuchet left the stage to rampant applause, Brienne laced her fingers in Jaime’s. “We need to move,” she urged him.

“Lead the way,” he said, allowing her to pull him in the direction of the White Sword Tower stage on the other side of the Keep. Bear Island were just finishing their set when they made it to the stage; a lot of their fans disappeared soon after, so Brienne pulled Jaime forward until they were four rows from the barrier. Eventually, Brienne managed to slyly elbow her way through the crowd whenever somebody in front left to get a drink or go to the toilet until she pulled Jaime to her side against the barrier.

“Best seats in the house.” She grinned at him.

_Not as good as what I have in mind_ , Jaime thought. “Not that you’ll want them for this lot,” Jaime murmured in her ear, careful not to speak too loudly.

Before Barry the Bold took to the stage, they would have to endure The Brave Companions’ set first, and Jaime knew from experience that their fans were absolute dickheads at best and would likely throw punches if they heard anybody disrespecting their favourite band.

“They can’t be that bad, surely?” Brienne turned to him.

He stood on his tiptoes again, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady himself as he moved his lips to her ear. “Trust me when I tell you they’re farcical,” he whispered. “Bloody mummers!”

He felt Brienne laugh beside him, and she leaned into his touch. _Just an hour or so more_ , Jaime told himself, _and then she’ll finally know how you feel about her._ The prospect of having to grin and bear it throughout The Brave Companions’ performance didn’t seem to faze Jaime as soon as he remembered how close he was to surprising Brienne with the once in a lifetime opportunity to meet one of her heroes.

The Brave Companions were just as insufferable as they had been when Jaime had first seen them, long ago at one of Tywin’s stupid LION functions that he’d been forced to attend when he was a teenager. He was sure that it was a ploy of Tywin’s to lure Jaime into his business with a token smattering of rock music, but Jaime had hated them from the word go. Their sound was pretentious, and their lyrics just downright distasteful.

Halfway through the set, Brienne shouted into his ear, “Gods, they’re so sexist!”

“Right?” he agreed.

“How do they get away with it?”

“They can sing about whatever they want, I guess,” Jaime shouted back. “They clearly have an avid audience.” He looked behind him, unsurprised that most of their fans appeared to be mostly beer-bellied, balding, middle-aged men who looked as though they hadn’t been with a woman in a good 30 years or so. “It’s nothing more than misogynistic shit punctuated by rampant swearing,” he shouted into Brienne’s ear again. “I don’t get the love in!”

Eventually, the time came for Jaime to lead her towards the side of the stage where they would be welcomed into the “authorised access only” zone by Selmy’s tour manager who Jaime had been in contact with.

He wrapped an arm around Brienne’s waist and tugged gently. “Come with me.”

“But we’ll lose our spot!” Brienne argued, planting her feet and making it difficult for Jaime to move her.

“I have a better one in mind!” he shouted down her ear again.

He tugged harder this time and she followed him. “Jaime!” she complained, but he could hardly hear the rest of her protests over the screams of The Brave Companions’ lead singer.

When they were well out of the way of the speakers, Jaime turned to her. “Do you trust me?”

She looked at him in irritation, irked that she thought he’d dragged her away from the ideal spot. “I guess,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t try to sound too convincing.” Jaime snorted.

“Well, it’s just that we’d waited all that time for Barry the Bold; we only had another few songs to suffer through before those tosspots were over and done with, and now we’ve lost the best spot!” she complained.

“Would you rather watch Barry’s set from over there or stageside?”

“Stageside? Are you serious?!” Jaime thought Brienne might have punched him if it turned out he weren’t telling the truth.

“Of course.” He couldn’t help but grin at the starry-eyed expression beginning to form on her face. “I told you you’d meet your heroes one day.”

Brienne threw herself at Jaime, nearly knocking him over in the process, and he buried his head in her neck. “Jaime! You’re the best” she cried. “I can’t believe it!”

Jaime shook his head. “ _You’re_ the best,” he insisted.

She kissed him and Jaime felt his heartrate quicken in response. He loved her. He was so close to _telling_ her he loved her, so close to the sheer happiness he’d convinced himself he would never find, and soon, hopefully, Brienne would be _his_ officially. He wanted nothing more than to call her his girlfriend, to dote on her, to support her, to tell her he loved her in every combination of words possible, with the grandest gestures and with the smallest, most meaningful, actions.

She pulled away and rested her forehead on his. “Thank you,” she murmured, her breathtaking blue eyes fixated on his own.

“Anything for you, Tarth,” he replied, pecking her lips once more. He grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips briefly, and then pulled her along with him.

“Jaime Lannister, _CasterlyROCK_ ,” he drawled, handing his ID over to the security steward. “Belwas should be expecting me.”

The steward nodded at him, handing back his ID. “I’ll just be a moment, Mr Lannister.”

Brienne looked at him almost giddily. “I still can’t believe this! I have no idea what I’m going to say to Barry.”

Jaime smiled at her overjoyed excitement. “Don’t overthink it too much, just talk to him like you would talk to anyone.”

“The only people I really talk to are you, Margaery and Catelyn,” Brienne said. “And I’m not dating him, I’m not friends with him, and I’m not employed by him.”

Jaime laughed at her, but the steward returned before he could reply.

“Follow me, Mr Lannister. Miss Tarth,” he said, gesturing for them to hop over the plastic bollards and chains that seemed to have no real preventative security value. Jaime laughed as Brienne tripped over the chain having not lifted her trailing leg anywhere near high enough, reaching out to steady her before she could faceplant the floor.

“My knight in shining armour,” she muttered, the fake scowl of embarrassment on her face quickly turning into an amused smile.

“At your service.” He smirked at her.

When they reached the backstage area, the Barry’s enormous tour manager Belwas greeted Jaime with a firm handshake, informing him that Barry was just doing his final preparations and would be out to see them shortly. “Make yourselves comfortable,” he said, gesturing to a table in the corner, complete with a bowl of sweets, a jug of water and two glasses.

Jaime thanked Belwas before he disappeared, gesturing for Brienne to take a seat first. “Nervous?” he asked her.

“They say you should never meet your heroes,” she said.

“I don’t. Meeting Sir Arthur was one of the best days of my career. One of the best days of my life, really.”

“What if he turns out to be a prick?”

“The guy’s been in the industry for over 50 years, Brienne. I think we’d know by now if he were a prick,” he reassured her. “Besides, if he’s a prick to you, I’ll be a prick right back to him.”

Brienne’s laughter warmed his soul, and, suddenly, he couldn’t wait any longer. Sod the romantic song; he needed to tell her he loved her right now while they had a moment to themselves.

“Brienne,” he started, reaching across the table for her hand. He didn’t think his heartbeat had ever been so erratic, but he found the calm he needed to continue in her sapphire gaze. “There’s, uh, something–”

“Jaime fucking Lannithter,” lisped an unwanted voice. _Oh, fuck you_ , Jaime thought before he turned to face the person who’d interrupted him.

A tall man with jet-black hair stood to the side of the stage, covered in sweat. It didn’t take a genius to deduce The Brave Companions had just finished their set.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Jaime drawled, though the man clearly knew him.

“Vargo Hoat,” he explained, as if the name meant anything to Jaime.

“Ah,” Jaime said. “Pleasure.”

_It most certainly wasn’t._

“Kingthlayer, right? Brought down Wildfire and then opted to make uth your next victimth.”

Jaime looked at him in blatant disdain. _Get out of my face, you dick_. “I assure you I didn’t, mate. The thing is: I don’t actually care one jot about your music. I wouldn’t waste my time trying to make you my next ‘victims’.”

“But you did. You’re the bastard that slated our biggest ever tour!” Another member of the band stood beside Hoat.

Jaime remembered with a smirk. “Oh yes,” he said. “I suppose I did in a way.”

When none of them made to leave, Jaime decided he should probably explain himself. Not that he’d take back the review; they genuinely only deserved 1/5 stars. “A+ for effort, guys, seriously. The energy’s good, just not in the right place. The music just didn’t cut it for me.”

“We lost all our fucking female fans because of you, you dick,” another man spoke. Jaime turned to him. He was short but brawny, coated in thick black hair, and his nose was so deformed he might as well have not had one.

_I can’t imagine you were ever popular with the ladies anyway, you hairy beast._

“I merely highlighted your own lyrics…” Jaime explained. “Women would have seen you for the sexist tosspots that you are eventually, with or without my help. I didn’t tell them to ditch you. I was just doing my job.”

“You were jutht being a cunt,” Hoat spat at him.

Jaime looked to Brienne in apology. This was supposed to be a momentous occasion for her, but it had turned into a pathetic back and forth with a bunch of petty men. Brienne smiled at him wryly from across the table.

“I guess I _was_ just being a cunt,” Jaime repeated, trying to appease the men to get them to move on. “Now, if you’d kindly excuse us, we have a genuinely talented musician to meet.”

He rose from his chair and Brienne followed suit, walking around the table to take his hand. Jaime had no idea where he was taking her – Belwas had told them to stay there, after all – but he knew The Brave Companions would sit and verbally abuse him all day long if they didn’t make a move for it first, and Jaime was already bored of their whining.

“I don’t think so.”

The fattest member of the band took a step towards them, and Jaime instinctively shuffled forwards slightly so that he was shielding Brienne. “I have a gift for you,” the fat one said. He had a thick accent, and his voice was hoarse and raspy. He continued forwards until he was stood a mere two feet away from Jaime.

“A gift?” Jaime raised his eyebrows sceptically.

“A thank you of sorts,” the fat man drawled. “For the article.”

Brienne seemed to interpret his intentions before Jaime did, because her hand tightened around his own and jerked on it, trying to pull him back.

But, before Jaime had had any chance to react, or any chance to figure out what was about to happen, the fat man had punched him square in the face and the shock of it all meant that Jaime had been knocked off his feet, taking Brienne down with him in the process.

“You fucking cunt,” Jaime cried, before turning to Brienne. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Brienne muttered. She got to her feet quickly, and pulled Jaime up with her with effortless ease.

“Nice one, Zollo,” he heard in the background over the sound of guffawing laughter. “Took the cunt and the cow out in one.” He watched as the fat man, Zollo, made his way back over to the rest of his band with a bow-legged saunter.

But Jaime hadn’t finished with him. He wouldn’t have minded if it was just him, but he’d brought Brienne into it now. And Jaime wouldn’t stand for that.

He strode forward with a determination, and, without really thinking it through, he tried to shove Zollo from behind. Of course, Jaime had failed to take his almighty weight into consideration, and the man who was possibly almost three times heavier than Jaime didn’t lose his footing whatsoever.

He did, however, turn around with a ferocity in his eyes.

Before Jaime could react to his own stupidity, Zollo had grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and jabbed him just below his eye socket, before tossing him aside as effortlessly as if he were a rotten piece of fruit.

Jaime barely had time to register what had happened before he slammed into the temporary wall, barely had time to acknowledge Brienne screaming his name, barely had time to move out of the way of the gargantuan cabinet loudspeaker that had been knocked from the tower with the force of Jaime’s landing.

“Jaime!” Brienne shouted again.

Jaime was momentarily relieved to think he’d successfully evaded the deadweight, but the excruciating pain eventually jolted through him after a short delay.

His right hand was in searing agony, trapped beneath the inescapable weight.

He just about made out The Brave Companions making a hurried getaway before his eyes closed with the pain.

The only thing he could think to focus on to distract himself was the familiar scent of Brienne beside him as she tried to hoist the speaker off his hand.

And then Jaime’s world blacked out around him. 


	10. Brienne V

Brienne didn’t know why _she_ was the one crying when it was Jaime whose hand was trapped beneath the crushing weight of the speaker.

The almighty sound of it crashing down onto his hand had been horrendous, and she had no doubt that broken bones would be the least of Jaime’s problems. Brienne had no idea what to do in her paradoxical state of panic; the more time she deliberated over what she should do to help him, the more time she wasted panicking, which meant she deliberated even more, until she reached a point where she knew she could afford to neither deliberate nor panic no more. Jaime was depending on her.

Her first course of action was an attempt to lift the speaker off his hand, but, though the weight would have been no problem for her, the sheer size of it made it impossible for her to wrap her arms around it. The only way she’d be able to move it alone would be to drag it, but she daren’t do any more damage to his hand. She knew the extent of it was already dire, and she feared Jaime might come to resent her if she made it worse in any way.

The Brave Companions had made their cowardly getaway as soon as the incident had occurred, and Brienne had been more concerned about rushing to Jaime’s side than she had been about kicking the shit out of each and every single one of them at the time. Jaime had been knocked unconscious by the agony he no doubt felt, and Brienne hadn’t wanted him to wake up alone and in excruciating pain, so she’d stayed by his side instead of trying to exact revenge or get help. Now that she’d had time to think about it, though, Brienne thought that letting her anger out on them would have been at least somewhat more productive, and wholly more satisfying, than standing idly by like a helpless maiden with no reins on her emotions.

Brienne reached for Jaime’s free hand and squeezed it tightly, trying to will him back into consciousness.

“Jaime,” she murmured, reaching forward to cradle his head in her other hand. “Jaime, I need you to wake up so I can find somebody to help you.”

She felt his hand twitch slightly in her own before his eyes fluttered open. He let out an agonised groan.

“My hand…” was all he managed to say, his words catching at the back of his throat.

“I know,” Brienne said, trying to speak with more composure than she felt. “We need to get you to a medic, but first we need to free your hand.”

Jaime’s eyes closed again, but she knew he was still with her.

“I’ll be right back,” she promised him, squeezing his hand before letting it go. “I’m going to find help.”

She rose from her squatted position before wiping away her tears with her forearm; when she pulled her arm away, it was covered in a smear of fluorescent paint and glitter. She almost laughed at how much of a state she must look – blotchy cheeks, puffy eyes, messy face paint – but what was new, really? At least right now she had an excuse to look a mess.

She didn’t get too far before she saw Belwas bounding his way towards her, concern and wary intrigue in his eyes.

“What the hells is going on back here?!” he asked with a hushed fury. “Barry was just reaching the most vital stage of his pre-gig meditation before he was rudely interrupted by whatever commotion you and your companion are causing out here.”

Brienne shook her head. _Barry can fuck himself_ , she thought. “My, uh– Jaime,” she started, willing the fresh tears in her eyes not to fall as her voice wavered. “There’s been an accident. He needs help.”

Her voice broke at the end, and a few of the threatening tears spilled over. Belwas seemed to sense the urgency of the situation, merely gesturing for Brienne to lead the way and quickly matching her hasty pace as he bounded along behind her.

“What the fuck?” His eyes widened when he took in the sight of Jaime on the floor, his hand hidden beneath one of the enormous speakers.

“Th– there was… an altercation,” Brienne stammered. “Can you help me lift it?”

He shook his head apologetically. “I can’t,” he told her, and Brienne almost took a swing at him. “Health and safety would have a fucking field day if I put my back out.”

“Oh, fuck your health and safety!” Brienne cried. “What about Jaime’s safety?! His hand’s _crushed_ beneath that thing. The gods know what damage has already been done, we need to move it immediately.”

Brienne sensed that Belwas was about to argue with her once again, so she gave him the most severe look of warning she could muster. He looked at her hesitantly. “It’ll be heavy.”

“Which is exactly why we need to free his hand from beneath it!” she argued. “Look, I could lift the thing myself if I absolutely had to, but it’ll only make it worse. It needs to be lifted clean off, and I can only do that with your help. It’ll be no problem for the two of us, just fucking help me!”

Brienne had reached the point of panic where her manners had completely evaded her. It wasn’t the time to be polite; it was the time to act fast. She marched over to the speaker with conviction, raising an eyebrow at Belwas as if daring him to defy her on this once more. Jaime let out a shaky whimper on the floor, which finally prompted Belwas into action.

“It’ll be ok, mate,” he tried to assure Jaime, as though he hadn’t just spent a solid minute trying to get out of helping him. He turned his gaze to Brienne. “How should we do this?”

“Just wrap your arms around it as best you can and I’ll do the same on the other side,” Brienne instructed. They both got into position and Belwas nodded at her. “Ok,” she said. “We lift on the count of three.” She caught Jaime’s gaze beneath her, staring up at her as though only she could take his pain away, and she began to count.

“One.”

Jaime’s eyes fluttered closed, and he groaned again.

“Two.”

Brienne tensed the muscles in her legs in anticipation.

“Three.”

She heaved under the weight of the speaker, but the pair of them managed to make light work of it, lifting it easily off Jaime’s hand. They took a few steps to the side and Brienne nodded at Belwas, wordlessly indicating they should lower it back to the ground out of the way. She rushed straight back to Jaime’s side as soon as they’d dropped it.

It wasn’t pretty.

Far from it.

Jaime’s hand was a mosaic of blacks and blues and purples, bruised to buggery and coated in his own blood. His bones were quite evidently crushed.

“Shit,” she whispered, as tears threatened to fall once again.

 _Hold it together, Tarth_ , she thought. Jaime needed her help, not her tears.

“It hurts.”

“I know, my love,” Brienne said, her own casual words of affection taking even herself by surprise. “We need to get you to hospital.”

“I’ll call for an ambulance,” Belwas said, heading swiftly back in the direction he had come from. He called behind him as he walked, “I’ll find some ice, too.”

“I can’t move my hand, Brienne. It’s numb. I can barely feel that it’s there,” Jaime whimpered.

 _You will_ , Brienne almost said in reassurance. But she was glad she stopped herself. She wasn’t convinced he would, and the last thing she wanted to do was to lie to him in his most vulnerable state. “We’ll make sure you get the best treatment,” she said instead, lowering herself to a seated position beside him and pulling his head into her lap. She stroked his hair absentmindedly as she fretted. “I wish there was more I could do to help you.”

“Just stay with me,” Jaime pleaded.

“Where else would I go?” Brienne asked. “I won’t leave your side until you ask me to.”

She tried her best to keep him distracted while they waited impatiently for the paramedics to turn up, uttering words of nonsense and meaningless comments to him to pass the time. The sound of her own voice was beginning to grate on her, but Jaime’s breathing had begun to return to normal, and she’d discovered that it somehow kept her own tears at bay.

Jaime was doing remarkably well to sit in silence, given the intense pain he was in, and despite his usual tendency to spout endless bouts of verbal shite just for the fun of it. She’d expected more agonised sounds, more self-deprecating comments, more anger at The Brave Companions, but she got none of it from him. His silence worried her. Brienne had no experience with a silent Jaime, and therefore had no idea how to deal with his quietude; a silent Jaime had seemed an impossibility to her before now.

She feared what he was experiencing mentally; any thoughts he couldn’t voice aloud were almost certainly a threat to his wellbeing, but Brienne couldn’t fight what she couldn’t hear. Hence, her own words were primarily to ward off the off-putting silence, but, more importantly, to keep Jaime’s mind busy.

When they were finally in the ambulance and on the way to the Lion Gate Infirmary, Brienne felt as though she could finally breathe again. She’d done all _she_ could for him, and now he was in the right hands.

Brienne just prayed that they could do something to save Jaime’s _own_ hand.

Just as she’d promised, she stayed by his side in the ambulance, by his bedside on the ward, during the initial assessment of damage, just behind a screen during his x-rays, while he cried out in agony, while he snapped at his doctors, while he succumbed to the drowsy effects of his painkillers. He hadn’t asked her to act like a protective guard dog – he hadn’t said much at all since it had happened, in truth – but Brienne was terribly worried about him, and she didn’t want to let him out of her sight for her own sanity just as much as his.

Eventually, Dr Qyburn, the gaunt looking fellow who had first attended to Jaime, returned to the room. Brienne gently nudged Jaime awake. It took him a moment to take in his surroundings before Qyburn addressed him. “Mr Lannister,” he began. “Sorry to interrupt your rest. My colleagues are currently assessing your x-rays and someone should be around with more information shortly. I merely popped by to inform you that we’ve contacted your next-of-kin.”

“My–? You’ve done what?” Despite his grogginess, Jaime suddenly seemed furious. “Why would you do that without my permission?”

“Hospital protocol,” the doctor replied with a polite smile, impervious to Jaime’s distress. “Unfortunately, your father is preoccupied.”

“Preoccupied at–” Jaime awkwardly reached across himself to check his phone with his left hand. “2:27 in the morning? Clearly,” he spat. “Good. I wouldn’t want to see him anyway.”

“Your father did say he would inform your twin sister. He seemed to think she might be more inclined to visit you at this time.”

Brienne almost flinched at the fury in Jaime’s eyes. He looked murderous. “No,” he insisted through gritted teeth. “I won’t have her see me like this.”

“We can turn her away when she arrives if you’d prefer,” Qyburn offered.

“She’s not welcome here,” Jaime snapped.

“Very well, Mr Lannister,” Qyburn said, nodding once at Brienne before leaving the room.

Brienne suddenly felt very sick.

The last thing she wanted was Cersei to turn up, for her own sake as much as Jaime’s. She had no idea what to say to him. The last thing he needed to add to his list of worries right now was his sister, but the silence only made Brienne visualise that Cersei-shaped rift between herself and Jaime growing ever wider. She’d been kidding herself to believe she could handle a man who’d had complex romantic and sexual relations with his sister, because, quite frankly, she still had absolutely no idea what to think about it. But, at this point, she was in way too far over her head, and she had suddenly never felt more useless.

Eventually, it was Jaime who broke the deafening silence. “Why the fuck is _she_ coming?” Jaime growled at her.

Brienne looked at him, hurt. “You heard him: hospital protocol,” she tried to explain calmly, although she felt her throat constrict with a threatening sob. She managed to compose herself before continuing her feeble attempt to put him at ease. “He said you won’t have to see her if you don’t want to.”

“Well, I fucking well don’t.”

Brienne reached for his uninjured hand, but he pulled it out of her reach. Her heart faltered at his unexpected rejection. She felt the sting of tears forming in her eyes once again, and tried to blink them away before he saw them.

“How dare they even call my father,” Jaime continued angrily, well and truly on the warpath. “How dare he get Cersei involved,” he spat. “Why is it any of his business what happens to me?!”

“I don’t know, Jaime,” Brienne cried defensively, his hurtful tone getting the better of her. “I didn’t fucking call him, did I?” she snapped. It cut deep that he was taking it all out on her, and she was fearful of what was unfolding between them. She’d seen Jaime in an emotional state before, but never like this. Never to the point where she felt his anger were directed at her. She knew in her mind that he was drugged up and in pain, and most likely taking it out on her as the closest outlet for his anger, but there was a part of her heart that couldn’t reconcile her feelings with rational thought.

“I thought I’d lost Cersei.” Jaime laughed mirthlessly after a period of silence. “Didn’t think it’d take losing a hand for her to come back to me.”

“You haven’t lost your hand, Jaime. There’s still hope,” Brienne tried to assure him quietly, but her tone was far from convincing.

She hadn’t missed what he’d said.

Just as she’d feared from the very beginning, Jaime had pretty much just admitted that he’d been waiting around for Cersei to return to him. Brienne had been aware of her own transient importance in his life – a stopgap to fill the spaces left vacant by Cersei – but she hadn’t expected to be made redundant so soon. She’d only just allowed herself to fall completely at his feet, and, already, she felt herself transitioning into the clown she’d known she was all along.

“Hope.” Jaime scoffed at the word. “Don’t mock me, Tarth. We both know I’m fucked.”

Brienne couldn’t bring herself to reply to him. She knew that a continuation of the conversation would only reduce her to tears, so she pulled her chair away from his bedside to put some much-needed distance between them. She could hardly believe that a day that had begun with so much pleasure could possibly have ended in so much pain.

Jaime’s hand wasn’t the only tragic casualty of the evening.

Their alliance?

Affiliation?

Definitely not a relationship.

No matter how much Brienne had willed for it to continue in that direction, it certainly can’t have meant as much to Jaime as it did to her. Whatever it was between them, though, she felt it crumbling around them rapidly. Perhaps she’d built it up in her head into something more magical, more beautifully hopeful, than it had really been. Perhaps she’d been wildly entertaining her childhood ideals of romance, more desperate to feel something like love than to see it for what it had truly been. Perhaps, despite her usual acumen when it came to men’s intentions, she had allowed herself to be more naïve than she’d thought herself capable of.

They sat in silence for a period of time, before Jaime’s voice finally reached out to her much more softly than it had been before. “Brienne… I’m sorry. I don’t want to take this out on you.”

“No–” Brienne started to say in apologetic embarrassment, ashamed that she’d taken his behaviour so much to heart when she knew he was in immense pain and not in his right mind, but she was swiftly interrupted by a flash of long golden hair sweeping into the room behind the very last person she had wanted to see.

_Cersei._

“My dear, idiot brother,” she crooned as she languorously approached Jaime. She kissed his forehead with a sickening intimacy, as though she hadn’t noticed Brienne were in the room. “What have you done now?”

Brienne didn’t miss the accusation in her tone, as though Jaime would be stupid enough to have his hand purposely crushed. She also didn’t miss the way Jaime looked at her, a look that made it apparent he was quite touched, and not at all angry, that she’d forced her way past hospital security to get to him.

“Cers,” Jaime murmured. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t need me here. I would have come sooner,” she said, shooting him a look of admonishment, “but I found myself deliberating whether I should come to you at all. You’ve been ignoring me.”

The accusation was there again. Brienne still felt sick to her stomach.

“I had nothing to say to you,” Jaime murmured, looking away from Cersei.

“You always have something to say,” Cersei argued. Brienne was surprised to find herself in agreement with her. “Well, I’ve come all this way to see you; you’ll have to talk to me now.”

“How did you even get here so quickly?”

“Oh, Robert and I have been staying with Father this past week. Weddings don’t plan themselves, you know.” Cersei let out a melodious laugh. Brienne wondered how someone so outwardly perfect as Cersei – even down to the sound of her laughter – could possibly fit the manipulative picture Jaime had painted of her; the wounded look etched onto the canvas of Jaime’s face, however, told the story much more clearly.

“When’s the big day?” Jaime scowled, still not meeting her eyes.

“We’re still deliberating,” she said. “Robert wants a winter wedding, but I think the white would flush me out too much. As soon as we set a date, you’ll know about it. Feel free to bring a… date.” She turned to look at Brienne, giving her an appraising onceover with the same look of distaste that Brienne recalled from the only other time they’d met.

“Cersei.” She gave a false smile by way of introducing herself. She obviously didn’t remember Brienne. “Jaime’s twin sister. And you are?”

“Brienne,” she muttered, suddenly frozen in place by Cersei’s venomous stare.

“And you know my brother how?”

“Oh, I’m his…” Brienne trailed off. What _was_ she to him?

“Brienne writes too,” Jaime offered. “We see a lot of each other at gigs.”

Brienne looked to Jaime in shocked offence, but he was looking at Cersei as if trying to gauge her reaction. _We see a lot of each other at gigs?_ It took a moment for Brienne to process his words properly in her state of bewilderment. _Sure_ , she thought. _And also in your apartment, and in my apartment, and in every second of time I can spare for you…_ She’d bared every inch of herself to him last night and all again this morning; he’d seen “ _a lot of her”_ while he’d been inside her, yet now he was brushing her off as though she were just some bumbling colleague he often bumped into.

She felt tears beginning to prick at her eyes, but she would satisfy neither of the Lannisters by allowing them to fall.

“Yes,” Brienne found herself agreeing with him unfathomably. “Jaime’s obviously untouchable in our field, but we cover the same material from time to time.” She somehow managed to stave off her tears, but they were still threatening to fall. After everything they’d been through together in such a short space of time, Brienne had thought she’d meant more to him than that. She cursed her stupidity. Maybe the happiness she’d felt in his arms was merely a figment of her imagination. Maybe she’d wasted the past nearly two months of her life living a lie.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. “I, uh– I think I’m going to see if I can get a coffee from somewhere… Do you guys want one?”

Jaime met her eyes finally. “Please.”

Cersei shook her head. “I’m good.”

“Right,” Brienne said, turning eagerly to leave the room.

“Brienne,” she heard Jaime call from behind her. She reluctantly turned to face him. “Thank you,” he murmured.

“It’s just a coffee…” she found herself mumbling before she continued through the door, intimidated by the two pairs of matching emerald eyes on her.

She knew it wasn’t the coffee he was expressing his gratitude towards. His pathetic thanks seemed more like his own cowardly way of ending their time together, too afraid to outwardly say anymore in front of his sister. She’d already convinced herself that this, whatever they’d shared, had run its course, but it didn’t make the reality of the situation any less painful. In the space of a few hours, Brienne had gone from being on the verge of her dream come true, to being caught in the middle of a Lannister web that she had no hope of escaping in one piece.

She swiped at the tears that had spilled over and onto her cheeks, embarrassed by her emotional reaction. How could she compete with his literal _sister?_ His sister who looked as though she had been carved by the gods to stand by his side to complete the world’s most attractive couple. She’d suspected that Cersei might always have some hold over Jaime, but she’d never seriously contemplated the likelihood of being alone in a room with the twins who loved each other in a way that siblings simply should not, and the reality was overwhelming.

She decided her best shot at a coffee at this hour was one of the shitty coffee machines she’d passed when she’d followed the paramedics bringing Jaime onto the ward. She didn’t particularly even want the coffee, she’d just needed some time to herself to regain some sense of clarity on the situation.

“Miss Tarth.” Brienne nearly dropped the paper cup in shock as she was rudely interrupted from the internal war she was waging against herself. She turned to see Dr Qyburn standing behind her. “You’re Mr Lannister’s partner, yes?”

“His–? No. I’m his… I came with him in the ambulance,” she explained. “I was with him when the accident happened.”

“I presume that must have been awful to witness,” Qyburn probed with what sounded like a macabre interest as opposed to genuine concern. “There must have been quite a crunch.”

Brienne looked at him warily. “I can’t say I heard anything beyond the sound of him crying out in pain.”

“Of course.” Qyburn at least had the manners to look down in embarrassment. Brienne waited for him to continue. “Now. I’ve seen his x-rays and it’s not pretty.”

“ _I_ could have told _you_ that much,” she muttered.

“Four fractures at the very least, but we’ll have to get an MRI on there too to check the extent of damage to the soft tissues. The best case scenario is he wears a splint until the surface damage repairs, but I think we’re looking at something much more than that. There’s very little we can do to fix him up completely.”

“So… you’re saying it’s a lost cause?” Brienne’s heart sank for Jaime.

“Never. But I wouldn’t hold your breath. He’s going to need an extensive physiotherapy programme, but I’m not convinced there’s anything that can be done to ensure he regains full function.”

“He said he couldn’t feel anything earlier. Will he ever regain feeling in it?”

Qyburn shook his head. “I’m not sure, Miss Tarth. I wouldn’t like to say.”

“Shit,” Brienne muttered more to herself than to Qyburn.

“Let him know I’ll stop by on my rounds shortly,” he said.

“I will. Thank you, doctor.”

Brienne returned to see Cersei sitting on the side of Jaime’s bed, his good hand held firmly in hers while she ran her other hand through his hair to keep it off his face, a much prettier callback to the way Brienne herself had comforted him earlier.

“I, uh– Dr Qyburn, he, uh– It seems as though you’ll need an MRI too,” Brienne’s face flamed as she stumbled across her words to inform them she’d re-entered the room.

Jaime at least had the good grace to pry his hand from Cersei’s grip when he realised Brienne had returned. He nodded at her, and Brienne couldn’t read a single thing in his eyes.

“I expected nothing less,” he stated miserably.

Brienne moved further into the room to pass him his coffee. She managed to successfully convince herself it meant nothing when his fingers brushed hers, lingering slightly as he took it from her. Perhaps all those touches they’d shared had been completely innocent, and she’d just imagined their significance.

“Brienne…” Jaime started to speak, but was silenced by Cersei’s hand on his once again.

Cersei turned to Brienne instead. “My brother and I were just talking, and we agreed it’d probably be the best for everybody if you returned to Lannisport.” Brienne took a deep breath. “You must have work to return to, after all.”

“I don’t have to, I’m on leave until Tuesday because of the festival,” Brienne countered, but it was no use. If Jaime didn’t want her around, she wasn’t going to show herself up as the lovelorn fool she was.

“Well, Jaime’s in no fit state…” Cersei looked at his hand in unconcealed disgust. “Surely there’s no fun in attending the festival alone?”

“No, but–”

“Then you should go, Brienne,” Cersei encouraged, a fake smile plastered on her face as if she gave even the slightest shit about Brienne’s work. All three of them in the room were well aware of her intentions, but none of them acknowledged the truth of it aloud. “Go home. Enjoy the rest of your weekend off work. Our family’s here, and _I_ can give Jaime everything he needs.”

Brienne turned to Jaime, desperate for him to tell her he wanted her to stay by his side once more as he had done earlier. But, earlier, Jaime had been hers or so she had convinced herself; the Jaime of the present, whose now-vacant green eyes bore into her own without an ounce of the fondness she had begun to crave, was Cersei’s.

He gave her a half-smile, his lips curling up emotionlessly on one side. “You should go, Brienne. Don’t worry about me,” he said. “I’ll drop you a message or something when I know what’s going on.”

“A message?!” Brienne repeated, flabbergasted. “After everything we… You know what, Jaime? Don’t fucking bother. I’m really not interested.”

She marched towards the door in anger. Is that all she was worth to him? A poxy message? She’d all but given him her heart, and he might as well have just given her his middle finger in return.

“Brienne, wait,” Jaime called after her. She turned to face him one last time, foolishly hoping to see just a glimmer of _her_ Jaime reaching out to her one final time. “The keycard,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his wallet and struggling to pull it out with his usually unused left hand. “For the hotel room. You won’t get in without it.” He waved it at her when he finally freed it. She’d never been more insulted in her life.

She snatched it out of his hand with all the ferocity she had garnered over the course of the past hour or so. “Right,” Brienne snapped. “Enjoy your damned coffee,” she called behind her in childish petulance. She took one final look at him, and, instead of wallowing in her own sorrow, she allowed herself to find a strange sort of victory in the somewhat bewildered expression on his face, before she marched out of the room, out of the hospital, and out of Jaime Lannister’s life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am endlessly apologetic to Brienne for making her suffer like this, but things _will_ get better.


	11. Jaime VI

Jaime was discharged the very next day – much sooner than he had expected – with Dr Qyburn chattering giddily away about “casualties yet to come”, a perversely excited twinkle in his eyes as he stipulated the need to clear the beds for similarly unfortunate festivalgoers. Jaime couldn’t help but feel he’d been tossed to the kerb and left to fend for himself by the medical staff; albeit less than a week off, his first consultation with a physio was still much too far away for Jaime’s liking, and adapting to his new disability was proving a struggle with nobody there to properly assist him.

So, on the Monday morning after the incident – or _Day Three Without Brienne_ , as he had begun to miserably mark it in his mind – Jaime had had to rope his brother into helping him check out of his room at The King’s Lodging, because apparently even something so trivial could pose a problem for a recently-crippled fool learning to adapt to life with his lesser-used hand. Though he’d requested Tyrion’s company primarily to help him pack up and carry his luggage, Jaime was more thankful he’d be there to support him through the emotional baggage of re-entering the room he’d shared with Brienne before the accident, and before he’d acted a monumental prick and forced her away.

He could still hardly comprehend the extent of his own idiocy.

In the space of a single, disastrous evening, he had not only lost the use of his right hand – perhaps permanently – but also the woman he had come to love. And what made it sting the most was that Jaime had only himself to blame.

If only he’d acted more like the grown man he was than a young boy lacking self-restraint…

If only he’d learnt to repress the emotional volatility that constantly drove him past all rational behaviour…

If only he’d been able to match Brienne’s indomitable composure…

_It might all have been so different._

Jaime might never have pushed Zollo in childish retaliation, Zollo might never have launched Jaime into the speaker, which would never have crushed his hand; Jaime would never have been admitted to hospital, Cersei would never have made her ill-timed appearance, Brienne would never have left Jaime’s bedside, Jaime would never have seen the sense in Cersei’s words, and he would never have willingly hurt Brienne.

But he _had_ hurt her, much to his own loathing.

That much had become quite apparent the very moment she’d begun to storm away from him, but, drug-addled and injured, Jaime had been in no fit state to even sit himself up in bed, let alone go chasing after her, and she’d ignored every single one of his forty-two phone calls before the battery in his phone had burnt out. He knew he’d fucked up – _big time –_ but it was hard to earn forgiveness when the woman he sought it from was doing her very best to completely ignore his existence.

So, when Tyrion gestured for him to enter the hotel room first, Jaime had been disappointed, but not surprised, to see that there was not a single mote of evidence that suggested that Brienne had ever stayed in the room with him, effectively erasing any trace of her own existence in Jaime’s life. Not one item left behind, not a single strand of loose hair, not even the slightest crumples in the bedsheets betrayed Brienne’s presence. If it weren’t for the very visceral memory of her laid out before him, naked, vulnerable but trusting, giving herself over to him freely, there would be naught to suggest that anybody besides Jaime had spent a night in the room.

“She’s gone,” he murmured. Not that he’d expected any alternative.

“Isn’t that precisely what you told her to do?” Tyrion raised a judgemental eyebrow.

Jaime glared at him.

“You didn’t seriously expect her to sit around waiting for you on the off-chance you’d change your mind?”

“No, but– I didn’t mean for– She took it the wrong way,” Jaime countered. “It wasn’t that I wanted her gone, more that I just didn’t think it made sense for her to stick around for my sake when she has a life of her own to worry about back in Lannisport.”

“It’s no good telling _me_ that,” Tyrion said. “There were so many ways to explain your side of things to her _without_ breaking her heart, you know? You made a right sorry mess of it.”

“For the thousandth time, Tyrion, _I_ _know_ ,” Jaime said through gritted teeth. All Tyrion had done since he’d picked him up from the hospital was berate him it seemed, and Jaime needed no assistance on that front. “Do you think she hates me?”

“You told me she didn’t leave your side once in that hospital, and yet you chucked her out almost immediately after Cersei turned up? I don’t know, it doesn’t look great from her perspective, Jaime.” Tyrion gave him another admonishing look. “If she doesn’t hate you, she probably should.”

Jaime ran his left hand through his hair nervously; it felt wrong, unfamiliar, having always done so with his right. Another reminder that his life had been forever changed in the space of an evening.

“I didn’t want to be a burden to her…”

Even he knew it was a pathetic excuse. It certainly didn’t change anything.

“So instead you were a cunt to her,” Tyrion countered. “Bravo.”

“Oh, piss off,” Jaime snapped. There was nothing more he could say on the matter; he knew that Tyrion was only speaking the truth of the situation. In fact, he was speaking the thoughts in Jaime’s own mind aloud, but, somehow, they rang more truthfully in someone else’s voice.

He sighed, defeated. There was nothing he could do to change the way he’d behaved in the hospital now, so he just had to pray to each of the seven that he could somehow wrestle his way back to Brienne’s good side. If she ever decided to acknowledge his existence again, that was.

He clumsily unzipped his suitcase with his unpractised left hand so he could start to repack his stuff away; he needed to get the seven hells away from the room that only reminded him of his fuck-up quickly, before he lost control of his emotions for the umpteenth time since the accident.

Jaime almost laughed when he finally got the suitcase open, but he wasn’t sure there was any humour in it.

Brienne had already beaten him to it, it seemed. His clothing had been neatly folded and packed away, the rest of his belongings tucked away neatly in the remaining spaces. Despite everything he’d done to hurt her, she’d proven herself once again to be the world’s most considerate person, packing on his behalf so he didn’t have to struggle with just the one hand. 

“She _will_ forgive you,” Tyrion stated with complete certainty.

Jaime turned to him. “She might not.”

“Look at that.” Tyrion gestured to the suitcase. “She obviously cares for you, despite how you treated her; it’s not so easy to switch that off. You of all people should know that.” He looked at Jaime pointedly. “You might have to grovel, brother, but I think it’s far from a lost cause.”

Jaime nodded. He’d do whatever it took to win her back around, and he needed to explain himself to her properly. More than anything, he was conscious of how Brienne had interpreted events, and he needed her to understand that it wasn’t about Cersei, it was about her.

It would always be about her.

Unfortunately, he’d let the pain and the drugs get the better of him, and he’d shamefully spoken to her like shit before appearing to side with Cersei. When she’d suggested that Brienne should return to Lannisport, Jaime had seen nothing but sense in the decision. He knew that Brienne would undoubtedly stay if only he asked her to but he had no right to ask, and she had a life of her own to worry about. She’d only really just begun to write for _LadyStoneheart_ full-time, and he wanted nothing less than to get in the way of her steadily flourishing career. He’d felt obligated to relieve Brienne of any responsibility she felt she had to look after him for her own benefit, but he should have known that Cersei’s intentions were less than honest. She’d had an ulterior motive; she always did.

Though she didn’t want Jaime (and Jaime certainly didn’t want _her_ anymore), she didn’t want anybody else to have him either, so pushing Brienne away from him had been Cersei's plan all along.

Jaime had been complicit, naively, and Brienne had understood that decision as his inevitable return to Cersei, giving up on their own burgeoning relationship in favour of his sister who had done naught more than make his life an endless difficulty. There was no wonder she’d left the room in such a rage. Brienne was fragile, and he’d known that. And, instead of treating her with gentle hands, he’d held her so very briefly before dropping her carelessly, thoughtlessly, to the floor, falling for another of Cersei’s manipulative schemes once again. Except, this time, Jaime wasn’t the only injured party.

But, when she’d turned up at the hospital, when she’d fought her way through security to get to him, just for a moment, Jaime had dared to believe that Cersei maybe cared about him beyond their illicit hook-ups. He’d wondered if maybe their physical distance in recent months might have opened the door for them to be real siblings to one another, as if Cersei might have shown up to behave like a doting sister in his time of need.

_Idiot_.

Alas, Jaime had been wrong to think the best in her, and he vowed it would be the last time he ever did. He’d never felt more alone in his sorry excuse for a life than he had since pushing Brienne away, but Jaime knew with great certainty that he’d much rather be alone than be with Cersei. Hence, he’d moved in with Tyrion for the time being. Not that he’d seen a great deal of his brother beyond a few lectures on his treatment of Brienne; Tyrion had spent most of the rest of his weekend out with some woman or other. But, despite the initial loneliness, Jaime felt almost grateful for some uninterrupted time alone with his thoughts.

“You love her?” Tyrion probed, but his intonation was somehow both statement and question.

“I do,” Jaime replied with conviction.

“Then you can’t afford to make any more fuck-ups.”

“I know that.” Jaime rolled his eyes.

“Does she love you?”

Jaime hesitated. “I never got the chance to ask her.”

A part of him did wonder if Brienne might love him in return; she certainly did more to show her affection for him than anybody else ever had. Since meeting Brienne, Jaime had slowly begun to rediscover the more hopeful side of himself, the one he’d kept buried since his teenage years, and, now, instead of repressing that fruitful hope, instead of capitulating to everything that told him he was unloveable, unworthy of affection, Jaime made a conscious effort to remind himself that he was, in fact, just as deserving of love as he deemed everybody else.

“I think perhaps she might’ve done… Maybe. Before I ruined things,” he elaborated.

“Then what are you waiting for? Go get her,” Tyrion encouraged.

“It’s not as easy as that.” Jaime shook his head. “She won’t answer my calls, and… I need to sort myself out first; I can’t risk hurting her again.”

Jaime knew he needed to make the most of this period of rehabilitation to improve himself twofold: physically _and_ mentally. He vowed to use the time to better himself, to be better for Brienne. He knew it wouldn’t be long before he’d hammer down her door, pleading for her forgiveness, but he needed to be more comfortable in his own mindset before attempting to sweep her off her feet.

A small, gradually-loudening voice in his head feared that he’d perhaps jumped straight from one codependent relationship with Cersei into another with Brienne, and that was exactly the last thing he wanted. He loved her, but he didn’t want to feel like he _needed_ her.

He was well aware he’d been nothing short of clingy with her right from the start, and he knew he needed to work on his own mentality if he wanted theirs to be a healthy relationship. He hoped that some time apart might do wonders for both of them; perhaps when he eventually admitted his feelings to her, they might be able to begin again without fear of Jaime’s attachment being a burden to either one of them.

“Just be quick about it, then,” Tyrion had said. “She won’t wait around for you forever.”

By the time Tuesday rolled around, or _Day Four Without Brienne_ , Jaime discovered he missed her too much to be proud about it. She’d told him not to bother messaging her, but he couldn’t help himself. He knew the likelihood was that she would not reply, but he had to try for his own sanity. He typed out message after message with his slow left hand, uncertain what he should say, before he finally gave up on trying to construct the perfect wording and just sent what he’d already typed out.

**Jaime:** _I know you said you didn’t want to know, but it was you who got me to the hospital in time so I thought you should know anyway… Doc said I was about 15 mins away from losing my hand completely, so thank you. It still hurts like a motherfucker, but I have my first consultation with a physio today, so, with any luck, they’ll tell me straight how likely it is I’ll ever be able to use it again. Got my fingers crossed (left hand only lol) for good news._

**Jaime:** _Hope your first day back in the office goes well x_

He didn’t expect a reply; after all, she’d ignored all his calls. That didn’t, however, soften the blow he felt when, 12 hours later, he saw that she’d read the messages and chosen not to reply. He didn’t want to badger her, but he couldn’t help himself from reaching out to her again. Bombarding her with messages could hardly push her away more than he already had; that damage was done.

**Jaime:** _I’m sorry._

**Jaime:** _About everything._

**Jaime:** _I promise I’ll make it up to you._

By the time midnight rolled around and he’d got into bed still without a response, Jaime had given up all hope that she’d ever talk to him again. Then, just as the heavyweight, overnight painkillers were beginning to kick in, his phone vibrated, startling him out of his drowsy state.

**Brienne:** _Goodnight, Jaime._

Jaime felt his heart quicken to see her name appear at the top of the screen. It wasn’t much in the way of accepting his apology, but it was enough for Jaime that she’d even bothered to respond to him at all.

**Jaime:** _Sleep well, Tarth._

The path to her forgiveness was to be a long slog, Jaime knew, so he decided to wait a while before bothering her again, wanting to give her the space she needed to get over what had happened between them. Besides, he knew he had at least another fortnight of consultations in King’s Landing before he could return back to Lannisport, and he didn’t feel it right to attempt to properly rekindle anything between them via an impersonal messaging app.

On _Day Eleven Without Brienne_ , though, he heard a song that instantly made him think of her and decided it was an innocent enough reason to contact her. He didn’t want her to think that he’d stopped thinking about her, after all.

**Jaime:** _Have you heard The Hedge Knights’ new single?_

**Brienne:** _Not yet. Any good?_

**Jaime:** _You should. I think you’d really like it._

**Brienne:** _Cool. I’ll give it a listen on my lunch hour._

Two hours later, she followed up on her last message with more enthusiasm than Jaime had hoped for, and he felt almost giddy.

**Brienne:** _You were right, they're_ _SO GOOD._

**Jaime:** _Right?_

**Brienne:** _Thanks for the rec x_

**Jaime:** _Anytime._

Then, without thinking, he sent another message.

**Jaime:** _I miss you x_

As soon as he sent it, he regretted it. He’d given her a drastically subpar, measly apology at best since the night he'd pushed her away, and she’d by no means accepted it yet. That point was only hammered home when she eventually replied to him nearly an hour after he saw she’d read his message.

**Brienne:** _Don’t worry, Jaime._ Y _ou’ll see a lot of me at gigs again soon enough._

**Brienne:** _I write too, you know._

Having his own words thrown back to him only confirmed that she was in no way over the events of that night. He could have kicked himself for turning what had been a light-hearted interaction, a positive step in the right direction, into something that could hurt her again. And he hadn’t meant anything hurtful by those words in the first place, though he was embarrassed that he hadn’t even fully understood how much Brienne was hurt by them until she’d marched out of his life.

But what was he supposed to have said to Cersei? That Brienne was his girlfriend? She wasn’t; he’d been mere moments away from that, he was certain, but then the accident had prevented him from pouring his heart out to her. He couldn’t have told Cersei she was a _friend_ either, because she was so much more than that to him, and he didn’t want Brienne to think that was all he thought of her. _The woman he loved?_ Sure, he could have gone with that, he might have saved the two of them seven hells’ worth of pain if he _had_ gone with that, but it was hardly fair on Brienne to admit his feelings to her for the first time in the presence of his sister, the only other woman he’d ever been with.

So, instead, Jaime had opened his stupid mouth and made out that they were nothing more than two people who worked in the same field, even less than acquaintances; an insult to everything he felt for her, and what he hoped she felt for him in return.

**Jaime:** _I can’t tell you how sorry I am about all that, Brienne. Please believe me. You deserve so much more than a shitty text by way of apology, and I promise I still intend to make things right again. The very second I’m back home, I’m coming to yours whether you like it or not, and I’m not leaving until you’ve heard my very long list of apologies._

Brienne never replied to him.

He waited and waited for a response, constantly picking up his phone to check if he’d missed the notification, but she either didn’t believe him or didn’t want to hear his apologies. Either way, Jaime couldn’t help but lose hope that the damage he’d done was even somewhat mendable.

He managed to keep himself busy for the rest of the week, attending various consultations with an endless series of nurses, doctors and physios he could not name for the life of him. The prognosis wasn’t great. He’d known his hand was all but fucked, but hearing it aloud was a blow almost on par with that which had led to the injury. His hand would never regain full function. Though he’d been told he might, in time, regain some sort of ability to flex his fingers somewhat, the chances he would ever be able to lift anything with them were infinitesimally slim.

By the time Friday night rolled around, two full weeks since the accident, _Day Fourteen Without Brienne_ , Jaime found himself yearning for a drink to drown his sorrows. Tyrion was out with yet another woman, and Jaime felt that alcohol might help him escape his lonely, downcast thoughts. He knew that alcohol was very much _not_ the answer to his misery, but what good was sobriety to a man who’d lost everything? He was relieved to find a half-empty bottle of whiskey in Tyrion’s cupboards, and, mentally promising to buy his brother a new bottle to replace it, he tucked it in his right elbow whilst he unscrewed the cap with his left hand.

Just before he could take a swig directly from the bottle, he heard his phone vibrate on the coffee table in Tyrion’s lounge. Strangely relieved by the distraction, Jaime settled the whiskey back on the kitchen counter and walked away from what would almost certainly have been a bad decision.

He picked up his phone, and his heart began to pound rapidly when he saw it was Brienne.

**Brienne:** _Hey. How are things?_

Jaime was surprised she’d bothered to contact him at all after their last textual encounter, so the casual tone of her message caught him off-guard.

**Jaime:** _The hand situation’s pretty shitty, but I’ll cope. How are you?_

**Brienne:** _I'm ok. Are you sure?  
_

**Brienne:** _I know I’ve been distant, but I’m only a message away if you need a friend._

_Friend_. Jaime had suddenly never hated a word more. There was no way that anything he felt for her could be reduced to friendship, and he felt offended that Brienne could see nothing wrong in stepping backwards into the friendzone. Perhaps he’d imagined her feelings for him were much greater than they really had been.

**Jaime:** _Yes. Thanks, though. Pal._

He quickly regretted his sarcasm, sending a follow-up text to divert the course of conversation.

**Jaime:** _How’s Lannisport?_

**Brienne:** _Same as always. How’s King’s Landing?_

**Jaime:** _Same as always. Too many people, too many cars, too many reminders that I’m not where I should be._

**Jaime:** _I really do miss you, Tarth._

**Brienne:** _You’ll get over it._

**Jaime:** _Can I call you?_

**Brienne:** _Not now._

Jaime’s heart sank. His yearning for the whiskey on the counter paled in comparison to the sudden yearning he felt to hear her voice.

**Brienne:** _Sorry._

**Brienne:** _I’m out with friends at the moment._

**Jaime:** _Renly?_

**Brienne:** _And the Tyrells._

**Brienne:** _Before you say anything snarky about any of them, don’t._

**Jaime:** _I wasn’t going to. I’m just as hopeless as I thought they were._

**Jaime:** _Did you tell them anything? Do they think I’m a dick?_

**Brienne:** _You ARE a dick. And yes. They do._

Jaime didn’t know how to respond to that. _Is she angry right now? Or just winding me up_? Surely she wouldn’t have messaged him first if the former were the case, but the other alternative was that she was playfully mocking him as she had done so often. If the latter were true, then _perhaps_ Brienne was beginning to miss their old dynamic just as much as Jaime was. After an hour having still not responded to her, unsure how to perceive Brienne’s comment, Jaime was nervous when his phone vibrated five times in quick succession, revealing five new notifications from Brienne.

He picked his phone up expecting the tirade he’d known was coming, but was greeted with something that couldn’t have been further from a rant.

**Brienne:** _Just so you know, I didn’t mean that horribly._

**Brienne:** _You’re a dick, but at least you’re a loveable dick._

**Brienne:** _Likeable***_

**Brienne:** _I meant you’re a likeable dick._

**Brienne:** _Sometimes._

Jaime found himself smirking for the first time in a fortnight, finding humour in her messages.

**Jaime:** _Are you drunk, Tarth?_

**Brienne:** _Maybe. Sorry._

**Jaime:** _There’s nothing you should be sorry for._

**Brienne:** _I don’t really know what I’m saying. Look where I am!!_

Jaime let out a sharp laugh at the selfie she’d sent along with her last message. She was smiling in the photo, very visibly drunk, outside the same toilets they’d stood by the night he’d saved her from Hunt’s dark intentions. Jaime couldn’t help but grin back at the photo; her cheeks were flushed in the way he adored so much, and he was almost jealous that it had been the alcohol that had put it there and not one of his own teasing remarks. Her thick lips were twisted into a carefree smile, her somewhat crooked front teeth bared to him without her usual efforts to keep them hidden. And, though her eyelids drooped heavily in her intoxication, her mesmerising eyes still sparkled for him.

**Jaime:** _Best seats in the house! You look cute._

**Jaime:** _Please stay safe._

**Brienne:** _I will. Don’t worry about me, just you take care of yourself x_

Despite her protests, Jaime could do nothing besides worry about her for the rest of the night. He found himself periodically flicking through TV channels as he tried to distract himself from the irrational fear that her night would end in the same way as it had the last time they had been to the club in Ashemark, and he constantly checked his phone to make sure he hadn’t missed a call from her. He hoped she would still value her promise to him that she would call him if she were in any kind of danger.

At around 5:30 in the morning, Jaime’s phone vibrated. He had still not slept. It was a message request from Renly Baratheon, and Jaime felt his heart drop, absolutely certain that something awful must have happened to Brienne.

**Renly Baratheon (TRG):** _Brie wouldn’t let me leave her place until I promised to tell you she got back home safely, so: she got back home safely. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have given you the satisfaction. Stop toying with her, Lannister_

While relieved she’d made it home safe, Jaime was pissed that Renly sodding Baratheon had chosen now to finally take it upon himself to start acting like a decent friend. He had no right to comment on whatever the hells was unfolding between Jaime and Brienne.

**Jaime Lannister:** _Toying with her? I don’t know what she’s told you, but that’s not even close to what’s going on. Things are difficult atm, but I intend to make things right again with her soon._

**Renly Baratheon (TRG):** _Don’t bother. She’d be better off without you._

**Jaime Lannister:** _That’s for Brienne to decide._

Then, learning from his past mistakes, Jaime decided to be the bigger man and just let Renly’s disapproving behaviour slide.

**Jaime Lannister:** _Thanks for getting her home safe, though._

**Renly Baratheon (TRG):** _I didn’t do it for you._

_Arrogant cunt_ , Jaime thought to himself. But it didn’t matter. Brienne was home safe, and, even drunk, she’d known Jaime was worried and had wanted him to know she was back in one piece. Satisfied that he could finally stop worrying, he drifted off to sleep on Tyrion’s couch.

_Day Fifteen Without Brienne_ began with an unwelcome early awakening, a rhythmic thudding against the wall accompanied by a woman’s low moans made it Jaime’s mission to get as far away from Tyrion’s apartment as he could possibly get. He probably hadn’t managed more than an hour’s sleep, but there was no way he was going to sit and listen to his brother getting his end away with some woman he probably didn’t even know the name of.

Jaime left the flat in the same clothes he had fallen asleep in, and let his feet carry him to the seafront where he took a seat on a vacant bench. Looking out at the crashing waves sparkling in the early morning light, Jaime couldn’t help but think of Brienne as he breathed in the fresh sea air.

Last night had felt like a turning point; she’d given him something to hope for. Drunk or not, she’d described him as _loveable_ – Jaime chose not to focus on the way she’d quickly corrected it to _likeable_ – and she’d known he would worry about her, and had not settled until Renly had told him she was home safe. Perhaps all was not lost. Jaime found himself wondering how many more days would pass before he’d cave in and beg for Brienne’s heart, before he received a very early, very unexpected message from the woman herself. Surprised she was not in a deep, alchohol-induced sleep, Jaime opened her message eagerly.

**Brienne:** _You’ll never guess what I got tagged in last night._

**Jaime:** _??_

**Brienne:** _That gods-awful photo of us._

**Brienne:** _At the festival._

As soon as he saw the photo she’d sent, Jaime felt a wave of emotion overcome him. He’d completely forgotten about the reader they’d bumped into; unfortunate circumstances had overshadowed what had been an overtly fun experience in Brienne’s company, and Jaime suddenly ached to feel exactly how he looked in the photo.

Though the young girl had intended for it to be a photo of herself and her favourite journalist, it looked more as though she’d taken a selfie of just herself and just so happened to catch an almost sickeningly happy couple in the background; Jaime was grinning at Brienne in all his glittery-faced glory with his arm looped tight around her waist, as Brienne looked to the camera with a somewhat serious, startled expression, an endearing, slightly confused smile on her lips offset slightly by the brightly painted colours adorning her own face.

Jaime knew he’d been happy with Brienne, but the giddy expression on his own face had an ardent intensity to it that he could never have imagined. It was painfully obvious to anybody looking at this picture that he loved her. There was no way that the look in his eyes could be described as anything _but_ love. There was no way that Brienne could conceivably continue to doubt what she meant to him after seeing the photo.

**Jaime:** _Gods. I’d completely erased that from my mind. You look adorable._

**Brienne:** _I look like shit. You didn’t give me any warning!!_

**Jaime:** _Spur of the moment, I guess. Sorry._

**Brienne:** _Look at your face lol. You look almost ridiculously happy._

**Jaime:** _I *was* ridiculous happy._

**Jaime:** _I had two functional hands._

**Jaime:** _And I had you, Brienne._

Almost as soon as he’d sent the last message, he regretted it. They’d been on tentative terms ever since he’d pushed her back to Lannisport, and the last thing he wanted to do was to ruin things between them before he’d ever had a chance to apologise to her in person. He’d sworn to himself that he wouldn’t say anything over a message that needed to be said face to face, and he was certain that he was verging dangerously close to that territory. When his phone started ringing in his hand, he almost dropped it in surprise.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Jaime.” Her voice was somehow infinitely sweeter than he’d remembered.

“Tarth?” He answered in shock, certain she’d be able to hear his smile in his voice. “I can’t tell you how good it is to hear your voice.”

“I felt kinda bad that I wouldn’t let you call last night.”

“Don’t be silly,” Jaime responded. “I never really expected you’d take me up on it, anyway. Until you sent me that picture, I kind of just thought you’d made up some excuse to politely turn me down.” Jaime laughed in a way he hoped sounded less pathetic than he felt.

“You know I’d tell you outright if I didn’t want to speak to you, right?” She laughed.

“I know.” He laughed before an uncomfortably long silence settled between them, filled with everything he needed to say, but couldn’t bring himself to express in the absence of her company. “So, how are you?” he asked instead.

“Me? Fine,” Brienne said, and Jaime might have believed her if she hadn’t brushed the question off in a higher voice than he was used to. “How are you?”

Jaime sighed. “Tired,” he said, not quite mentally ready to talk about the consequences of his injury outside the confines of a medical environment. “I didn’t get much sleep. You can’t have done either.”

“No,” she agreed. “It was a late night.”

“A good night at least?”

“It was… ok,” she mumbled, sounding almost peeved about something. “My friends tried to set me up with some guy.”

“Oh?” Jaime murmured, surprised.

“I didn’t… He wasn’t… We spoke for about ten minutes when he first arrived, but that was that. Nothing short of embarrassing, really.”

Jaime couldn’t help but fear he’d missed his chance if she was already having her friends trying to find her someone else. “Brienne,” he started softly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Jaime.” She laughed nervously. “It’s not like I’d got my hopes up to meet the love of my life or anything.”

“Not about that,” Jaime snapped, regretting his tone the moment he heard it. He softened his voice before continuing, “I don’t want to hear about you meeting other blokes. I meant I was sorry for the way I treated you that stupid night. I’ve regretted speaking to you like that ever since. I was a prick, and I–”

“Don’t,” she cut him off sternly. “I don’t want… There’s nothing to apologise for. I’m over it.”

“There’s _everything_ to apologise for,” Jaime argued. “Brienne, I–”

“Stop it, Jaime.”

He paused for a moment with his eyes squeezed shut, listening to the waves ebb and flow before him. She’d raised her defences, and he knew it would take a miracle to get her to lower them to him a second time.

“I promise you I’ve not been with Cersei,” he insisted. “In _any_ respect. She left shortly after you did and I haven’t seen her since, I promise. I’ve been staying with Tyrion.”

She was quiet for a moment, before she murmured, “That’s none of my concern.”

“Brienne,” Jaime pleaded. “Don’t be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like you don’t care. Like I didn’t hurt you. Like you’ve forgotten everything we shared!” he almost cried in exasperation.

“What _did_ we share, Jaime?” she asked indignantly, her voice rising as she raised her defences even higher. “A similar taste in music? A few alcohol-fuelled emotional breakdowns? A couple of fucks sprinkled on top for good measure? _You_ were the one who gave up on it, whatever the hells it was.”

“I didn’t– It was more than that and you know it,” Jaime returned, weakly. Her emotional outburst only increased the guilt he felt. “ _Nothing’s_ changed for me. I fucked up, yes. But I still feel exactly the same way about you.”

“What does that matter now?” she returned quietly.

“It matters to me,” he urged. “ _You_ matter to me.”

He sighed.

“I can’t do this over the phone, Brienne.”

“Then when?” she pushed.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “As soon as my physio gets me through to someone closer to home. Do you still trust me?”

“I want to,” she murmured, but she didn’t sound fully convinced.

“Then please just bear with me while I get my shit together.”

He heard her sigh in response.

“I mean it,” he pressed. “As soon as I’m back in Lannisport, I’m coming straight to yours.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she said, before another awkwardly long pause settled between them. “I should probably let you get back to whatever you were doing, anyway… Sorry for disturbing you.”

“Oh. Ok. Yeah,” Jaime said, and he knew the disappointment was audible in his voice. “It was a welcome disturbance,” he insisted. She laughed softly at that, and his heart leapt at the familiar, yet slightly more hesitant than usual, sound.

“I guess I’ll see you soon, then?” Brienne’s voice sounded half-hopeful, half-afraid, and Jaime cursed himself for giving her cause to doubt him so much.

“Soon,” he promised.

“Jaime, I–” she cut herself off before she could finish what she was about to say. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too, Tarth.” He emphasised her surname fondly, and she laughed slightly again before she hung up on him, leaving him to his own thoughts once again. Jaime clutched his phone to his chest, as if somehow it might transmit his heart’s emotions straight to Brienne’s own phone and eliminate all her doubts about his feelings for her.

Closing his eyes, he fondly recalled the first time he’d ever properly met her at The Rainbow Guard’s homecoming show in Lannisport. Once desperate to bring nothing but a blush to her cheeks, Jaime could hardly believe they’d come so far, yet fallen just short of where he wanted them to be. He’d been lost in her eyes from the very beginning, but he never expected they’d come to haunt him in a place so far from home. He knew he needed to get his act together quickly; not even Brienne’s patience would last forever.

He wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep, but when Jaime's eyes flew open at the sudden sensation of his phone vibrating against his chest, he was disoriented to see the early afternoon sun so high in the sky. When he checked his phone, he found himself suddenly incapable of preventing a wide, relieved smile from taking over his face.

**Brienne:** _Just so you know, I miss you too, Lannister x_

Perhaps all was not lost, after all.


End file.
